My best friend was a smoker. He inhaled and exhaled the toxic chemicals daily, slightly mourning his own death every time he took a drag. I would stare at him every time he went into toxic city and downed a cool beer along with the nicotine item.
Every time he said he would quit, the next day id see him taking another drag or downing another alcoholic substance. He wanted to die while he was living, and all I could do was watch him fade away. His lungs could burst like a balloon at any minute. He was a zombie while I was a dandelion, all he did was walk around as if he was already dead; and I would sway against the rhythm of the wind, calming my inner mind. We were polar opposites.
I was living, he was gone. One day, I sat him down in a local pub; his eyes were bagging miserably, and my heart was aching at this sight. All I could see was the hopelessness, not the happiness I once knew. My tears blurred my vision as I inhaled lightly- I took in his looks, his posture, everything I've never noticed before. The nicotine, the alcoholic beverages galore he'd consumed without a single thought, aged him miserably.
I finally spoke. "I care about you deeply, please, please. Promise me you'll quit." He glanced up, it was more of a mere side wide glance- I felt like he was looking past me at this moment as he muttered a promise of getting better. The cold pint of alcohol was covered in presperation and all I saw was him staring it down, glancing up and down as it dropped slowly down the glass container. He sighed.
"This is my last drink," he went to reach for the pint, however, I slapped his hand. He trembled and cowered at my sudden outburst, although, he didn't push my hand off of his.
"It's always 'this is my last drink' will it really be? If I let you succumb to this madness, to give in to this temptation, you'll never give it up. It'll always be another drink. Another excuse. A way out of this promise."
Tears threatened his eyes. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him close to me.
"You have a life. All I see you doing is waste it away, drinking and smoking, hoping that maybe it'll get better. Stop hoping!" I hissed, and paused. I grabbed his hand, staring him straight in the eye. "You'll be okay. I promise. Just don't live like this."
After that, he gave up all of the consumption of alcohol he was used to. He got better, well, of course not as quick as he thought he would. Now every time I catch him in a lie, I tell him to promise me he won't do it. When he promises, he feels bad if he even thinks about going against it. When I ask people even other than him to promise me something, I never get a lie.
