Tag Archives: cancer

Nicotene kiss

preacher-pre-premiere-800x600

So long ago… an image of clear, cascading water… green leaves and virginal blossom… a happy couple with fresh faces… those tempting words, “Cool, fresh Consulate, cool as a mountain stream.”

The advertisement beckoned temptingly from magazines, forever whispering in my ear, suggesting that I, too, could find myself scrambling up mountains, sharing jokes and smiles with a male soul-mate, if only I smoked menthol cigarettes…

And you, the truth behind those pretty lies, your handsome face half-hidden by the shadow of night-time trees in a city park, smoke from your cigarette curling upwards, forming a half-frame which drew me ever back to your sensuous lips. How could I resist the offer of one of your narrow, nicotene-filled tubes, so stylishly flicked from the interior of the pack? My foolish heart lurched at the intimacy of your lighter igniting the end of my cigarette…

Those times I spent with you, in the corner of a cloudy nightclub, drinking doubles, while I smoked like a grown-up, never once smudging my make-up, feeling, oh, so sophisticated… I was young, and in love… We never climbed mountains, meeting only at night, under those city lights sometimes sneaking into the park, to make the only kind of love I had ever known. Afterwards you would want a drink… a cigarette… soon, so did I…

I lie here, in the slippered silence of this hospice, listening to my rasping breath, feeling the alien growth take over my lungs… I press a button on the gadget in my hand, and feel the swift relief of morphine haze. If only you were here with me, but I’m on my way to you…

I wish we could share one last nicotene kiss…

Written for Michelle’s Photo-Fiction Challenge.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Advertisements