The Last Smoke

She had appeared from no where. In his study, where he felt the safest, she had ventured without any difficulty, appearing from some dark corner of his room. He knew it could only be something super natural. God or some spirit which had appeared to fulfill its destiny and pass on to the next life. Her eyes reflected peace from somewhere out of this world but he could feel a much greater meaning behind it. As she silently sat on a chair in front of his, he looked at the most beautiful face he had ever seen, realizing not that death unlike all its descriptions was beautiful and after looking at it you want it more than anything else in the world. As the truth slowly dawned upon him he lighted a cigarette, silently pleading her to let him have a last smoke.

Sitting in his armchair he was having his last breaths. Long drawn breaths of nicotine. He would look at the cigarette after every long puff and see how his life got shortened by some more millimeters every time. He would then take a smaller puff but not fully enjoy it. He was amazed at how he had just asked for a cigarette as his last wish. His life did not flash by his eyes. But she knew how people always descended to asking only the smallest of favors in their last moments. The small things only symbolizing the triviality of their lives. He again looked up at the figure sitting in front of him.

She was smiling. Smiling at his desperation to somehow not burn the cigarette quickly and still get all the good out of it. She smiled at his confusion too, as he waited for some invisible fist to crush his heart. Death after all was a sadistic little bitch. Enjoying every moment of the final act like a pervert kid.

She walked up to his chair and took the burnt out cigarette from his trembling hands and led him towards probably the same dark corner from where she had come. She kissed him on the lips and he realized, why death was so painful. It was so much like love.