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I stepped out of my unit into the belligerent wind. It was evening now and the clear, starry sky above looked more purple than black. Waiting a moment for the unruly breeze to die down, I caught the slight stench of the hundred cigarettes laying with the mulch around me. A moment to light another one was lost with a gust that brought the permanent burnt-blood smell of iron oxide to my nostrils, giving the distinct memory of bit tongues. A feeling not unlike the sting on my exposed skin from the cold that accompanied the odor. I leaned back into the doorway to dodge the wind and soon only smelled the choke of the Martian Spirit I lit after another minute, instantly remembering why I didn’t like smoking them at all.
I had bought the pack at the filling station in desperation, not able to pick out any other familiar brands from all of the foreign labels in the nicotine bookcase behind the counter. I recognized these right away, they had been popular with hip kids back on Earth who were trying to be green or just trendy, the “healthy” cigarettes boasting liberation from pesticides and other additives–and from any discernible taste. I personally thought they were bland and took larger lungs to drag, and they take too long to burn in the damn wind. I forgot about it until I heard a skitter to my right and leapt back to the door, reaching inside to flip the halogen lights. I returned to the illuminated patio alone; I saw no scaly tail nor heard the scratch of claws, so I felt safe to assume I was so. Wishing I had not lost my scarf, I pulled up my collar and hugged myself with my smoke-free hand. It had been a while since that thing kept me warm.
Another, larger wind-wrought clatter in the yard beside mine startled me from my lamentations and decided I ought to head in, it was too bitter out there to make the cigarette worth it’s hassle. Stomping it out on the pavement before it ever had a chance to burn to the little ink graphic of a Labrys, I turned on my pressed toe and hurried in. The wind, appreciating my departure and the cease of filling her breath with smog, gratefully closed the door behind me.
stepped out of my unit into the belligerent wind. It was evening now and the clear, starry sky above looked more purple than black. Waiting a moment for the unruly breeze to die down, I caught the slight stench of the hundred cigarettes laying with the mulch around me. A moment to light another one was lost with a gust that brought the permanent burnt-blood smell of iron oxide to my nostrils, giving the distinct memory of bit tongues. A feeling not unlike the sting on my exposed skin from the cold that accompanied the odor. I leaned back into the doorway to dodge the wind and soon only smelled the choke of the Martian Spirit I lit after another minute, instantly remembering why I didn’t like smoking them at all.
I had bought the pack at the filling station in desperation, not able to pick out any other familiar brands from all of the foreign labels in the nicotine bookcase behind the counter. I recognized these right away, they had been popular with hip kids back on Earth who were trying to be green or just trendy, the “healthy” cigarettes boasting liberation from pesticides and other additives–and from any discernible taste. I personally thought they were bland and took larger lungs to drag, and they take too long to burn in the damn wind. I forgot about it until I heard a skitter to my right and leapt back to the door, reaching inside to flip the halogen lights. I returned to the illuminated patio alone; I saw no scaly tail nor heard the scratch of claws, so I felt safe to assume I was so. Wishing I had not lost my scarf, I pulled up my collar and hugged myself with my smoke-free hand. It had been a while since that thing kept me warm.
Another, larger wind-wrought clatter in the yard beside mine startled me from my lamentations and decided I ought to head in, it was too bitter out there to make the cigarette worth it’s hassle. Stomping it out on the pavement before it ever had a chance to burn to the little ink graphic of a Labrys, I turned on my pressed toe and hurried in. The wind, appreciating my departure and the cease of filling her breath with smog, gratefully closed the door behind me.
«…One Year Later…»
