Camera Girl

11:00pm - Silent Drives and Tears

Warning: May contain a smoking scene,** depression, and a whole lot of heavy swearing. Read at your own risk.

**Also, please don't smoke. It's dangerous to your health. I respect if some of you are smoking (if you're old enough and are already smoking, please do it minimally), but I ENCOURAGE and ADVISE you not to smoke.

Finally, there'll be a bit of depression. So please be warned. This is a trigger warning. Please talk to someone, love yourself and be happy. Also don't take your life. It's very valuable and it's a very awesome gift.

Thanks!

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Blair's POV

I went outside of the funeral house and sat on a chair in the porch, lighting up a cigarette. I put the tip of it into my mouth, inhaled its contents, put it out, and blow the smoke to drive my loud thoughts with them. I did this ever since my struggle of depression a few months ago.

I did this process again to contemplate about my dad. At some point, it was a massive alarm for my mom at first, but then she became used to the fact that I needed 2-3 sticks to calm myself down whenever I feel sad, depressed, or stressed sometimes. My dad, on the other hand, strongly disagreed and would literally throw the whole pack of them every time he would either see in my hand or would be kept in my bag.

Although I have a secret: The first time I smoked with my friends was ultimately bogus. The taste of nicotine in my mouth stayed awful. But pretty soon after that, I got used to it.

This method was to get over my depression that I'm having at the moment. The method to drive the loudest thoughts out of my head. The method to calm myself like marijuana.

I remember that same moment that when the heart rate monitor got flat. When I froze myself in front of him dramatically. When the nurses and doctors came to revive him but couldn't at the 6th time when it was 3:00am.

3:00am

As soon as I was done smoking my first stick, I was about to go for my second. But apparently, I felt the cold, steel table. I could've sworn my pack was on top of it.

"Shit," I whispered to myself as I rummaged around in my bag for another pack.

Oh yeah, that was the only one, I thought as I grabbed my bag and left the table until I spotted the open brown trash can and saw my pack of new cigarettes just on top of it.

What the bloody hell? I thought as I saw it with my eyes about to pop out and a vibe that's rising negatively.

I thought about the possibility that my dad's spirit jolted out of the coffin, grabbed my pack using his spirit hands, threw it on the trash can, and went back.

But that wasn't it. It couldn't be.

"Hey," Peter said in a casual but forced voice.

I turned around and saw him with an unreadable expression. Angry? Neutral? Furious? I can't tell.

"Looking for your smoking stash?" he asked roughly.

"Excuse me, what gave you the right to throw them?" I demanded.

"It's for the best," he said with finality.

"Best for what?"

"Just for the best."

"Unbelievable. You threw my pack without a reason? That's bullshit."

"Yeah. The better bullshit."

"Oh really? If you respect me, then why did you throw them? Surely you have a fucking explanation to your dilemma."

"So now I'm the bad guy?"