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I need a cigarette, badly. I hadn't had a smoke in well over three years. My family was so proud when I tossed that last pack away. Felt good. I felt…empowered. Now, three years later, I feel weak. I need that steady tremble from the nicotine, that and the giddiness from the lack of oxygen. I need that feeling right now. Morrigan said I couldn't start back up again. Morrigan had quit before me, and with me being her best friend, she said,
"You can't start up again. Only reason I don't is because you don't."
Well, I don't care anymore. Morrigan isn't here, and I need a cigarette. Just, imagining that first steady draw, the taste, hot and stifling, in my mouth, my lungs. And letting it go, watching it curl and dance in the breeze. I start my search. And just my luck…without having smoked in three years, there isn't even a single butt in the house. Hastily, my pockets get turned inside out. Thirty-five cents…not even enough to buy one, let alone a pack. The search becomes a mad scramble.