Maybe i should…maybe i shouldn't
those thoughts lingered over the 15 year old's head. with her grey and blue zippo she put the flame on and then releasing the button almost immediately. she did that every time she was stuck, staring at the white, rounded paper. she'd seen many of her friends do it, they said it made them feel lighter, left a heavy load of their chest, which would return after they were done with this activity. most of all, they said it felt good. she knew that she would feel guilty afterwards but was pretty keen on doing it. she'd seen it happen in movies a gazillion number of times. it was no biggie, right?
she decided to list the pros and cons, keeping in mind her asthma. pros: it would be done and over with; cons: she'd never be able to forgive herself about it. the sun was beating down so hard that she thought she wouldn't need the lighter to light the thing. she decided to tune into some angry, rebellious music. doing so, a certain lyric from the respective song reminded her of all the pain and suffering. striking a chord in her, she sat upright on her terrace, just the right place (the smoke would have filled her house up), and took the zippo and lit the edge of the paper. she bought the burning rounded paper near her face…after a few seconds of hesitation….she threw it on the ground and let it burn. she didn't know if there was right or wrong in what she had just done, but who cared? she felt much better. she knew it was one of the perils of teenage life and soon she would get over that phase. she marched out of the terrace, with a new aura surrounding her. but suddenly she stopped, glancing back, realizing it was too late. maybe today, her parents would be proud of her, as she had omitted a chapter in her life but she, was the least proud of herself. the ash now, meant so much to her then. helpless, she walked off, reminiscing the past. reminiscing the first time she ever held that, thing. the joy in her eyes was abundant, filled with excitement, exploring herself. it was the first time someone has given her a…POEM. a poem which meant the world to her, until sometime ago the author of that poem died in a car crash. indeed the author was her late boyfriend, who had very carefully put together all that he wanted to tell her in the form of lyrical sentences. he had carefully rolled it and handed it over to her just two days before the horrible tragedy. and now 1 month after, she had destroyed the only thing that kept her together in her hard times. as she walked out of the terrace, she
sighed at her misery and said, "ah what the heck, let me go have a smoke."
