Short Stories

Self-Destruction

Mark flicks his lighter on, watching the flame dance on the end. Easily he brings it to the cigarette balancing between his lips.

“You know that’s not good for you,” Kath points out.

Mark scoffs, but it turns into a sharp cough as the smoke enters his lungs. He turns away as he chokes, the cough rattling in his chest. Brushing the coughs aside he straitens up and points to the beer in Kath’s hand. “Neither’s that,” he jokes lightly, slightly breathless. He’d always admired women who drink beer. Kath knows how to put it away better than most though.

Kath glares.  “Watch it little boy, remember who you’re pointing fingers at,” without a pause she takes a swing from the bottle. Her red hair shivers in the cool night breeze. She bangs her bottle on the table hard, sighing deeply. “How’s Rebecca doing? Just started grade 1, huh?”

“Grade 2, actually,” Mark corrects. He pulls in a deep breath of smoke before blowing it out slowly. They’d come out here for a pity party, yet they’d done very little pitying. Mark’s wife for 10 years had suddenly packed up and left, leaving their daughter behind. He loved his daughter, but he still feels bitter. He doesn’t know the first thing about raising a daughter by himself. “Kath, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You move on, I guess,” Kath glances over. “Didn’t you say you were going to quit smoking” she snaps as an afterthought.

“What about you’re drinking” He challenges back. Despite Kath’s disapproval she isn’t any better. She said she’s going to quit drinking a dozen times now, yet she still has a bottle in her hand.

“Oh, hush” She snaps, pointing to Marks empty bottle lying at his feet. “I’ll stop when you do”

Neither are very good at keeping to their word however. A year later Kath dies in a car crash while intoxicated with a BAC 0.12. And several years later Mark finds out he has lung and throat cancer.

Rebecca is only 10 at the time. She visits him as regularly as she can while living with her mum, but one day the doctors stop her at the door. Mr Waite explains that her dad’s not feeling well and she can only visit for a few minute.

“Dad” Rebecca says softly as she enters the room.

“Come here, darling” Mark says, but turns away as a cough rattle through his body. Rebecca glances around. They’d put another machine in, and more tubes are connected to her father’s frail body, sprouting from his nose and arms. Carefully she crawls onto the bed beside him.

“It’s be alright, daddy” she promises, hugging his side.

Mark hugs his daughter, unable to tell her it won’t. He should have stopped smoking long ago, before it came to this. Where he can no longer breathe by himself and is reduced to bed.

Mark passes away in the middle of the night.