Last Drags

I lay here, in the crack of the pavement, waiting. People pass by above me, none taking the time to glance down and notice me. The wind blows and a few freezing drops moisten my paper wrapping.

Long, thin fingers with red tips grasp me. I’m lifted through the air and held up to a painted-on face. “It’s wet. Fuck that.” The fingers throw me and I bounce into fresh-cut grass.

Minutes pass. The rain finally ceases, leaving me sodden and ruined. Depression sets in. No one will want me now. I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life half-used and forgotten, to be picked apart by birds and squashed by numerous shoes.

“Mommy, look what I found!” Chubby fingers poke at me and turn me over. A little boy with blonde curls and forest-green eyes stared down at me in curiosity. A shrill voice interrupted his exploration.

“Lucas, get away from that -- it’s nasty!” A tall woman with neon-blue hair grabbed the boy and yanked him away from me.

Nasty? How could I be nasty? People buy me all the time. I relieve stress, help writers think, and give people something to do. Drugs are worse than me. Besides, if I exist, I can’t really be that bad, right? I fulfill a need.

I wait. Minutes pass once more. I lay here, bored, waiting for someone to find me and appreciate me. I don’t want my life to end like this. What happens when you’re forgotten? Will I simply crumble into this grass and dirt? I think it will be a long, slow death.

Slow, heavy footsteps approach. A wrinkled, age-spotted hand reaches toward me and lifts me into the air. I see white tufts of hair and sunken cheeks. The man places me between his cracked lips and brings a white lighter up to me. Bright, orange flame sparks, and I feel relief as he inhales. A sigh flows over my body as he exhales.

Bit by bit, I disappear. I feel my life draining away with each drag he takes. Fulfillment washes over me. I am finally satisfied. This is my purpose.