A Note... to No One.

I took a drag on my cigarette and let the smoke blow out in big, wide rings.

Why do I call it my cigarette?

Well, all you bloody losers, this is the only bloody thing I own in this world. It is mine, and mine alone. I own it. No one can take it away from me.

Ha, not even you.

I watched the rings fan out in the air, and then decided to try blowing different shapes. Oh yes, my absolute darlings, I can blow out smoke in shapes of my choice. It comes with time - starting to smoke when you are young and creative and smoking one hell of a lot. Try it and see. If you are young enough. But then, don't bloody turn around later and tell me that you are dying of some deadly disease or the other.

Because frankly my dear, I just wouldn't care.

I looked at the gun I held and speculated on how much it would hurt if you shot yourself. Do you die instantly? I don't like pain. I was never one for those morbid, gory movies. Hell, I watched cartoons all my life! They encouraged us to watch such nonviolent things. I had a panic attack when I first saw Rambo shoot so many people.

I am one for free, happy living. Do no harm to others, peace, et all.

Then why do I want to kill myself, you ask?

You are intelligent I say.

Well, for starters, let me just say that the only person who would miss me when I am gone is my cigarette. And hell yes, this cigarette? It has more feelings than any of the humans I have met. They... they wouldn't care. I have watched them tell lie after lie, say one thing and do another and cheat each other (and me) in the worst possible ways...

No, wait, don't think I am wallowing in self pity here. I don't do that. They do.

I examine and report. And like I said, I believe in the happy, free life.

Which, FYI, does not exist in this world. In some way or the other, everyone is a slave. Slaves to people we love, people we hurt, jobs, possessions, wealth, things we do.... you know the crap. It is a world of inadequacy. Nothing we do is ever enough. Someone is always ahead of you. Wealthier, smarter, kinder, blah blah on and on. You are at best second. Always. If you are first today, history will overtake you tomorrow.

I think I am talking too much. But then, I don't want you to delude yourself. I help wherever possible. Plus, this gun scares me in some ways. This was the weapon that was used to murder my family (not the same thing, don't be so bloody imaginative. It ain't a movie). Someone told me they lined up my family and the others in a row and shot them. Maybe they thought symmetry was important in death? Oh, why was my family shot? I thought you asked me why they needed to put them in a row. I barely remember the reason why they were killed, it was so long ago. Some bloody territorial dispute or God or some bullshit. I don't think anyone knows, including them. And no one cares now, except you. I don't.

So, this gun. It is sleek and everything and I rather like the fact that it practically glitters in the sunlight, but I worry about the pain it may cause me when used. Now, I was very young when my family was shot dead, so I don't remember if they shouted or cried or any of that nonsense. I only remember my father crumpling to the ground first, and then my mother following him.

That always intrigued me - I thought it would have been the other way around.

I deviate. Do I write a suicide note? I don't want anyone else to be blamed... ROFL. I can't imagine they would think anyone else could be responsible, much less care about doing something about it. That settles it -no note.

Well,well, enough is enough. I have spoken to you. Just watch carefully to see if it hurts me, if the pain shows in any way. Otherwise, tell them it was a painless death. I don't imagine they will ask.

Farewell.

**** For the record, I do not smoke. People asked me that after reading the post, hence the mention. *****