Habit Co.

He took his last glorious puff of the cigarette and stumped it out on the ground. Ben stood outside the towering building, Habit Co. knowing that when he walks out he'll be a different, better man. If that's possible, he thought. He strode through the automatic doors, receiving smiles from passing strangers but his own gestures were uncaring. He slammed a hand on the bell and demanded the receptionist lead him to his appointment. He had now infiltrated the waiting room; looking round he saw many nervous characters. Ben was good at reading body language; he could tell most of them were waiting for loved ones to finish their surgeries. The worries of the insignificant, Ben sniggered. The only reason no love ones were there for him is that they knew he would be fine, Ben told himself.

The walls of the waiting room were eggshell white with matching sofas, Ben helped himself to one facing the appointment rooms, lying down so no one else could sit next to him and secluded himself with earphones emulating a rock and roll beat. The song was suddenly interrupted by a piercing sound from the speakers. "Benjamin Coleman, to room seven," the lady said. It was time.

Ben made his way up the circular staircase and towards room 7. With no fear or anxiety but a truckload of unearned confidence, he pushed through the door. "Probe me, doctor, make me better!" Ben Exclaimed.

The doctor was surprised by the unexpected energy coming from her new patient and almost fell off her seat. However, she kept herself-upright, straightened her skirt before adjusting her glasses. "Benjamin Coleman, I'm Dr. Samantha Rose." Dr. Rose extended her hand but Ben was too busy playing (and dropping) parts of a brain sculpture she had so neatly arranged before he walked in.

Once Dr. Rose had finally had Ben paying attention she helped him get strapped into the cubical and placed wires onto his head. Her surgery room was small; most of the space was taken by her desk and the upright cubical against the far wall. The cubical was like a standing coffin with a window around the facial area and attached speakers.

"I'm just going to ask you a few questions now, please answer them honestly." Dr. Rose said.

"Sure," Ben replied.

"In your records, it says you have a BMI of 31, has this changed at all lately?"

"No, but most of its muscle."

"Okay. Sure, just for safety I'm going to put overweight. So, why are you here today?"

"Stop smoking."

"Okay, so I need you to do me a favour, I need you to close your eyes and remember the first time you had a cigarette."

Ben hesitantly followed her command, closing his eyes and remembering the day. 13-year-old Ben climbed out his window and made his way to his friend's house. He and Demi shared their first cigarette in the shed at the bottom of the garden, stealing the cig from the dad passed out on the couch. Then the doctor made him go deeper, he remembered every cigarette he had a pinnacle times in his life when he graduated from school, prom, the day he left his house only to go live at a new house paid off by his parents. From oldest memories to the most recent ones, the cigarette he had before entering the hospital only to witness Demi die due to lung cancer. Each memory came with a fresh stab of pain caused by the machine, and each time he could feel himself slipping away from reality until the very last memory. Ben standing outside Habit Co. and everything went black.

Ben awoke in the comfort of his own sofa with blurry visions of what happened. His room was a mess, pizza containers scattered across the floor, ash burns patterned from the sofa to the carpet, and old mouldy food now one with the room's furniture. As he sat up he noticed a leaflet on the table next to a glass of water, two pills, and sandwich on a plate. The note read 'You are now cleared of smoking, rest for a few days then enjoy the rest of your life – Habit Co.'

Ben found himself to be incredibly hungry so he munched down the sandwich and as he would usually do he reached for a cigarette. "I'm so going to sew if this habit thing didn't work." He took one of the many lighters that lived on the floor and lit the cig. Brought it to his mouth and took a puff.

As soon as he had taken the drag he found himself transported, standing inside a small shed staring at the younger version of himself with a young girl (Demi). He was in his memory, this made him smile as he kicked the passed out man on the couch. He witnessed their first cigarette, it was a golden moment a pure memory, one of his favorites, when it was only him and Demi against the world, the innocents of youth, and then the memory changed.

The once flawless facial features that Demi wore went stale as her skin started drying up, tightening around her body and then peeling off like grated cheese. She started screaming as her eyes turned to a red slush that swarmed around in the eye sockets and ran down her face. Her whole body was reduced to a weak-boned skeleton. The only other body part left was her lungs. The tarmac coated airbags were poked with holes that had smoke seeping out from inside like demons escaping hell. As Demi collapsed so did Ben, he threw the cigarette into the ashtray and found himself scrambling to the other side of the sofa. Breathing heavily as the realistic memory fades.

Ben's immediate detachment from cigarettes was clear; every memory that strengthens his smoking habit had been altered. He could no longer touch a cigarette or get nicotine hit without being tormented by corrupt memories. After the first few weeks of withdrawals had passed, Ben felt pretty good, fresher and free. As if a smoke formed a noose around his neck had been released. Hard work was never in the cards for Ben he knows that he can use his parent's money to do or get anything he ever wants. And nobody or no-thing has ever proved him wrong, until now.

It all started at Saxo's annual gathering. Saxo is Ben's dealer, a man with more strains of cannabis in his basement then Snoop Dogg. As soon as Ben opened the door to Saxo's party solitude he was met with a wave of enticing ganja smoke. Ben had smoked weed after the surgery and been fine so he entered carelessly, greeting all the intoxicated youngsters he passed and made his way to the smoking couch. Before he could say hello or get me a drink, he was always puffing away at the passing joint. At first, he got the familiar comfort hit as his body melted into the couch and his brain took up camp in the clouds but what Ben didn't know was that the joint was mixed with tobacco.

Ben was resting in the clouds, watched Tom and Jerry with Saxo's ranting voice in the background when he suddenly dropped, with a hard hit he found himself on the ground. He stood up and saw that he was at prom; he was met with loud music and red balloons. He was once again in a memory. "No, no, no!" but the words would not come out. He followed his friends towards the van unable to control his body movement. The vehicle's insides were plastered with cannabis posters, flowers, different coloured limelights and famous musicians. But the memory was corrupted just like before, they all had cigarettes and joints in their hands and one by one, whether it was ants crawling up from their lungs and out their mouths or fire coming from the ash they accidentally get on their clothes each friend drops dead. Suddenly Bens back, crying on the couch with all the people staring at him and wondering why he's such a lightweight.

After this night everything changed because the tobacco and weed mixed, he could no longer get high, every time he smelt or was near weed and cigarettes he would be tortured by corrupt memories. And it slowly got worse, every poster in his room of cannabis or every song lyric that mentioned it would cause his mind to attack him. Eventually, weed and smoke associated with other components like car engines smoke, any herbal smells, even people from his memories.

There's a man that lives in 212 St. Albans Street, a man that lives a house bought for him by his parents, a house he never leaves. If he ever does leave he never gets far he's always brought to his knees in sheer pain by passing traffic, most sounds and smells. This man that lives at 212 St. Alban street never worked for anything he wanted to live his life without working for it and now this man sits alone in a house that's wrapped head to toe in bubble wrap and tin foil to keep out noises and smells. This man will sit in the corner of this house; eating baked beans from a can he gets delivered. All Ben ever wanted to do was live life to the max, and now his experiences are limited, he is alone with his unearned money and can no longer step outside to spend it.