Quittin'

Today was definitely the day. I stood outside the office after work, took a few last puffs of my cigarette and put it out, fully intending to quit from then on. I collected the ashes in a sandwich bag and left.1

It went well the whole way home. I mean, there were just so many reasons to quit. It was 2043, and these days smokers didn't just choose a brand of cigarettes; that brand pretty much owned you. When cigarettes first started becoming a threat to peoples' health, they complained that it would cut your life expectancy down, so that if you would have lived to be 75, you might reach your mid 60's depending. Today, I'm 30 and people already call me middle aged. People living past their 50's is almost unheard of these days.2

Considering all the newer chemicals they'd been putting in cigarettes the last few decades, quitting was much harder and much more expensive than when they first came out. Babies started being born addicted to all these new chemicals, and since the withdrawal symptoms had become so severe, they had to be kept on small amounts of them until they were old enough to either undergo therapy or take up smoking themselves.3

The legal smoking age today is 11.4

I'd saved up a lot of money the past few years, and I finally had enough to get the treatment to help get over my addiction. I left work with a positive attitude, but I hit my first real problem when I got home.5

I tiptoed into the living room, hoping not to wake Her up. I opened my little bag of ashes from earlier and poured them into the ashtray, feeling relieved. As I walked away, she spoke.6

"What the hell is this?!"7

I turned around slowly, cursing my luck. "What do you mean sweety?"8

"Tell me, and be honest now, do you like Your meals served cold hours later? No, you don't, because you're not a f***ing dog, and neither am I!" I sighed, knowing this was going to be unpleasant.9

"No, you're not a dog," I said, turning to face her, "you're a goddamn ashtray, and you're not supposed to talk!"10

"Yeah, but you're the loser than needs me as much as you need another smoke," she said, in that smug voice she Knows I hate.11

"Screw you," I told her, walking away. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard after all.12

Next I heard her softly crying. She knows I can't stand that.13

"Lenore!(YES, I named her!) Come on, don't cry baby!"14

I picked her up, and whispered "Please, I'll do anything, just stop crying.."15

[I'll pause here to explain. No, ashtrays are not sentient beings in the future. And no, I'm not batshit crazy either. They say that at first, it was still possible to quit cold turkey, but nowadays it's a tough task, and for someone who smokes a lot, such as myself, withdrawal symptoms can include hallucinations. I knew this perfectly well (most of the time), but that didn't make it seem any less real.]16

Slowly the sobbing went down, and she whimpered "Just a snack baby? I'm so hungry..."17