Tendrils of Promise

This is completely unrelated to the other works of mine...just blogging this piecea shiat that came into me head

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He never intended to do it...But alas, even the strong willed have momentarily laspes...

On sudden impulse, he flicked his indicator lights to the right and turned into the small street several blocks from his flat. He noticed a cat staring at him as he was getting out of his coupe. Snarling back at the scruffy animal, he slammed the door in the hope of scaring it away.

He glanced back at the door, running his eyes over its gleaming, metallic blue surface. The damned vehicle cost him a bomb and he was not about to have it scratched by his stupidity only 2 months into the purchase.

He shuffled a couple of steps in the direction of the general store, kicking up sand in to the wind with his slightly faded sneakers. He sighed...he really needed new shoes. Humming a nervous tune, he shuffled the rest of the way to the store's entrance, as if unsure of what he wanted to do...

3 mintues later he was back in the car, his purchase in the passenger seat. 15 mintues after that he was back in his house, contemplating if he should go ahead with what he had planned to do.

With a barely audible 'Bah' he grabbed the item and walked out into the common landing. He lived on the 13th floor and decied to walk back down to the first to get his mail. Fingering his purchase, he finally sighed and ripped off the wrapper and flicked the cover open.

Taking a long hard look at the 20 sticks within, there was a slight pang of guit as he took one out with his lips. A small voice inside was telling him to stop being foolish, he'd done this before, what difference now?

He'd reached the stairwell, and the only sound that could be heard was the flicking of a lighter. This was it. He shut his eyes and took a deep draw from the stick.

His lungs hurt, but not in a bad way. His whole body gave a slight shudder, as if embracing an old lover after a long period of absence. He could hold his breath no more. The smoke escaping from his mouth was like that of a spastic gesyer. Coughing, he opened his eyes, and almost wished he had not. Slightly dizzy, he took another draw from the cigarette. And another, and another. Each breath hurting less, and feeling more pleasureable.

Just like sex, he thought grimly.

Time lost its meaning, and he sank down onto the stairs, feeling insanely high and unable to keep his balance. He tossed the cigarette butt -now wet- away. After an immeasurable amount of time his senses came back to him, and he was surprised to find himself on the 4th floor. Getting to his feet with a slight wobble, he continued his way down the stairs...

With a muted curse he slammed the mail box shut, and looked for a place to sit. His head was feeling really heavy, a polar opposite of 5 mintues ago.

He sighed. Was it really worth it? Granted, it was the second-best feeling in the world, after an actual orgasm, but was it worth the trouble of weaning himself of the damned sticks? Again?

He shrugged the thoughts away, and shuffled his way into the elevator, it was getting late, and his girlfriend would kill him if she found out.

His fingers twitched towards the box as the elevator doors closed...