Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.

desmondwrite in Fiction

226 reads

Nonfiction—A Cigarette

A cigarette on the beach:

Cold,

Light-headed,

Salty,

Composed.

You inhale with the coming of the waves;

You breathe out as they slip away.

The drowsiness you feel is the cooling of the earth

as it spins through a universe of cold, salty thoughts.

The embers in the stub are little suns.

You flick away a shooting star

and know at once how small you are.

[Wrote this, hmm, must have been 2010, mid-way through college]

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Challenge

Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.

Cover image for post Silence, by Mtrubenfire

Mtrubenfire in Fiction

198 reads

Silence

he sits by the window

smoking a cigarette

she doesn't know what to

say to him

it's always the same:

the smoke

mingling heavily

with the air

and the silence

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Challenge

Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.

Cover image for post Smokin' Hot, by sandflea68

sandflea68 in Fiction

213 reads

Smokin’ Hot

He was so smokin’ hot

fumes of inky smoke curling from full lips

raspy voice sinking deep inside me

tropical moist skin wafting desire

uncoiling torrid lashes of lust

He was so smokin’ hot

his flames lit up the creeping night

as I dove into his sultry ocean

sizzling promise as he drew his smoke

tiny red dots of ash beckoning

He was so smokin’ hot

muscular arms the color of mahogany

on fire on the catwalk of my dreams

flicking ashes onto my wanting skin

as I capsized in the quicksand of need

He was so smokin’ hot

my desire still steams below the surface

but the smoke has scalded his body

he struggles to draw breath

scorched lips and tainted lungs

He was so smokin’ hot

I help him with his oxygen tank

wait as he labors to walk

fill his prescriptions

cover him with blankets

He was so smokin’ hot!

The heat is still there

in my fevered memories

seared thoughts

on fire with his pain.

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Challenge

Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.

Cover image for post Gotta Light, by AlSalehi

AlSalehi in Fiction

212 reads

Gotta Light

Socially glamorized is my addiction.

With grandfathered approval

it branches out

bronchially,

through generations,

exponentially & carcinogenically.

Now, years later,

and a lifetime too late...

I learn that the price of

"cool"

will leave a dark & everlasting,

BURN.

Alan Salé

contact: AASalehi@gmail.com

PoetryByAlan.com

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6

3

Challenge

Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.

Mavia in Fiction

102 reads

Have I envied the Smoker?

Perhaps no it was the smoke!

The drama and screen of mystery,

Undoubtedly draws its allure.

But nay, it isn’t the beauty

Nor reputation accompanying it.

Wasn’t it then sacred Time!

The seeming deft concentration,

That suggests a real timeout.

So hard to steal a moment

Of reflection with an empty hand…

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5

3

Challenge

Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.

Cover image for post La jouissance du Cigare, by Vyxyn

Vyxyn in Fiction

112 reads

La jouissance du Cigare

Oh the thick roundness of it.

Dark brown, richly scented and full

of spicy flavor that I crave!

I like mine with a rich full bodied drink,

whilst leaning back with my feet kicked up relaxing as the evening breeze flows through as if to say "Cara Mia!"

Then I light him up and take him all in,

his rich full bodied flavor, I lustily savor

every puff as I greedily hang on to his last breath.

Then I come up for air, and start all over again savoring every second I hold his breath inside.

All too soon is my ritual over,

my time is done,

and now I must

bid you all adieu.

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1

2

Challenge

Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.

OliverWinters in Fiction

253 reads

The Cycle

The world is grey and mute. I wonder if the people I walk by on the sidewalk can see it, or feel it—the black poison that writhes perpetually in the recesses of my wavering soul. I've sinned as many others have; though I carry that weight with me as many others do not. How do they forget so easily? The crimes that they've committed, or the rows of conjured lies. I keep myself buoyed, in hopes that a powerful light strikes me at its fullest, eradicating that sunken darkness in my chest. It's painful, and distracting. It draws my attention away from my familial duties like a dreadful nuisance. The pain I speak of is different from anything physical. Invisible, and intangible. There's a slight tug on my heart, as a terrible memory flashes in my mind; like a fleeting wisp.

Fly away, go away; far as can be, and away; just away, I say.

I do not want to think of the past, when the poem I had written for my elementary crush was rejected (those were days of shameful persistence); nor the days I broke a potential soulmate's trust and heart. Oh, how I neglected her sweet, tender care. How could I push her away when all she had given me, was for me and me alone? I took her for granted, and now she lives to be my worst regret.

Away! I say again.

I'm sitting in the garage. The cigarillo in between my finger tips seemed brittle, crispy. I start from the scrunched end, breaking a line through it's length. When I finished so, I emptied it's tobacco guts into the trash can. With the fillings begone and the need for a smoke thriving numbly—like skin it unfolded, as my thumb and forefinger kept it splayed open and inviting—I reached for the grounded bits of herb to the side, making absolute surety of an even spread along the cigarillo's body.

Equal distribution meant an even burn.

Time had frozen over, as I worked meticulously. Tuck and roll, tuck and roll. I continued those simple instructions from the west end to the east, sealing every open crevice with a lick of saliva.

I pearled it; perfectly rolled, ready to be consumed. The summer heat worked furiously, but with the Sun away—and it's sister, Moon, alive in it's slumbering wake—the outside temperature was just right.

Placing the newly-rolled blunt behind my ear, I fingered the button that would lift the garage door. A breeze swept in, kissing the sweat that bubbled along my forehead.

The lit-up driveway where the motion sensor lights blinked on would do just fine. Yes, the stars above would add to the coolly atmosphere.

Retrieving the blunt, I held it before me, simultaneously pulling from the pocket on my shirt the 7-11 lighter I had bought for the occasion. It took a single, downward strike of the thumb to liven the flame. I soaked the end opposite of where I would place my lips, dousing it until an orange-smoldering light stilled on it's tip.

Puff, puff, exhale. The cloud of smoke that left my body seemed to take with it the aforementioned darkness. The weight was lifted. Mind and soul falling into equilibrium once more.

This cycle of up and downs would continue for many years forward.

Another puff.

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Challenge

Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.

LooselyEnded in Fiction

237 reads

Errant Drivel

I took one long hit from the southpaw, and then passed it along to my left before dissolving into a mildly painful coughing fit, which caused me to laugh hysterically. The room was dark, save for the bright blue christmas lights lining the ceiling which, to everyone's awe, created a sort of supernatural, ethereal atmosphere. The speakers boomed, drowning us in the blasphemous rhymes and rhythms of artists ranging from future to frnkiero and the patience.

"Is that a tattoo on your arm," I ask, knowing it is, in fact, a tattoo. I'd intended to ask what it said, but I was already forgetting both the words I spoke, and the words I'd planned to speak.

"What? Yeah. What?" Everyone laughs. No one knows why.

That was a regular occurrence in my life for many years. It began in my gap year, after high school. It followed me through my handful of semsters in College, where I studied animation, story design, acting, and a slew of other fine arts. It followed me through adulthood, when I couldn't find work and resigned myself to lingering at the bottom rungs of the Food and Bev business forever. It followed me right up until now.

My friend is dying. I glance at her tattoo again, chuckle a little. "Still there, eh? Guess it is a tattoo." A quip I've made for decades now.

"What? Yeah. What?" Not a quip. Her dementia is acting up again. She stares at me, her eyes void of recognition. Tears well up in my eyes, and some impossible pain grips my throat. We both laugh. Neither of us knows why.

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Challenge

Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.

Acadec56 in Fiction

124 reads

Rest Easy

She smoked and she smoked until she became the smoke. She flew her poison through the air and when it reached the baby's room, it was nothing but despair. The house soon ignited, and everyone's minds are now enlightened. The danger is truly dangerous, and we know now that it's effect is vicious. More and more like her everyday, it's the saddest story we've had to date. Heavy and uneasy, her soul was never breezy. Now, she and her loves must rest easy.

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Challenge

Up In Smoke: Craft a shortstory, drabble, vignette, or poem that features, includes, or describes the act of smoking.

As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.