Cigarette Boxes

Sitting all alone in a quiet old room was a man with a face of stone. His eyes were cold and his hands were stiff, as he lit his last cigarette. He tossed the box into the corner with the others and angrily ran his hands through his hair. With a quiet sigh he paced the room as he'd done so many nights before. The memories of that night haunted him still, her face was clear in his mind. With snow white skin and soft pink lips, her black hair whipped around her. A smile on her face and a laugh in her throat, she danced the night away.

He took a sharp breath and let the tears flow fast, finally letting down his guard. He wiped them away and picked up his whisky, taking another swig. It burned his throat but he didn't care, the pain somehow felt good. One more drag of his cigarette then he threw it to the floor and stamped it out. Searching the drawer for another box he saw her picture. He thought he'd burned them all. He pulled it out and ran his thumb over the black and white image, admiring her beauty. He put it back and shut the drawer slowly, wanting it out of his sight.

He grabbed his wallet and car keys from the table by the door, taking the whiskey bottle too. On his way down to the garage he spotted Mrs Peters, a sweet old lady from two doors down, she'd always been so kind to him. Flashing a quick smile he hurried past her and into the elevator. He pressed the buttom for the basement and leaned his head aginst the dirty wall, breathing deeply. The smell of urine and vomit filled his nostrils but he didn't care, he'd gotten used to it in the six months he'd been living there.

The aparment complex was old and run down, on the side of town where no self-respecting man would go. Full of drug dealers and prostitutes it was the best place to go to escape, the best place to hide from the world around him, the best place to try and forget. The elevator creaked and shook as it went down, the rusty metal doors rattling furiously as if they were about to fly off. The ride was short and soon he was out and walking towards his car, a beat up 1967 Chevrolet Impala. A few years ago he would have cringed at the sight of the car, classic cars were his obsession, but now he couldn't care less.

He got behind the wheel and started the engine. He pulled out of the garage not bothering to put on his seatbelt. Outside the night went on like any other, the girls were out trying to earn that months rent, and the dealers were out doing what they did best, providing false hope to those who sought it. He stopped at the traffic lights and took another drink of whisky, the bottle was almost empty now and his eyes were beginning to get heavy.

He arrived at the spot where it all happened, the spot where they took her from him. He sat down on a bench and closed his eyes, the memories of that night becoming too much for him.

"It was a cold winter evening. Icicles hung from glistening, frost covered trees and all was silent. They had decided to take a walk along the pier after dinner, she had always loved the city at night. Their breathes were visible in the cold air and she hugged closer to him to keep warm. Her green eyes were bright with happiness, as they always were. Up ahead there was a band playing Blues music and her smile grew wider. She dragged him over, laughing, and spun around in time to the music. Even though she'd quit the London Ballet years ago, she still carried the same grace and elegance when she danced, even if was just for fun. He watched her smiling, sticking his hands in his pocket feeling around for the velvet box he'd put in there earlier. He was going to wait until later but right here in this moment, it felt like the right time. He grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the waters edge, watching it glisten in the moonlight. Slowly he got down on one knee and saw her expression change from one of joy to one of horror and fear. He looked at her confused, had he done something wrong? He turned in the direction she was looking and froze. A group of men were coming towards them, all were armed with some sort of weapon, and all shared the same look of lust on their faces. Quickly he stood up and covered her body with his own, spreading his arms wide. One of the men made a joke at their expense, then the first blow came. It knocked him to the ground and his vision blurred. There was blood pouring from the gash on his head but he had to protect her. Another blow to the back of the leg and he was on the ground again. Someone held him down, placing their foot on his throat to hold him still. He could hear her screams as they attacked her, she was sobbing and crying his name, but he couldn't get to her. Then suddenly all went silent. The attackers ran as the sound of a police car rapidly approached. He got off the ground and ran to her side but it was too late. Her dress was torn and her hair was matted with blood. Her emerald green eyes were now paled staring up at him unfocused, unmoving. He screamed as sobs racked his body, begging her to move, begging her to call his name. But he knew that she would never call his name, he knew that he would never hear the sweet sound of her angelic voice, ever again."

He opened his eyes once more and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box and opened it. He played with the diamond ring inside and kissed it gently before putting it back inside and placing it back in his pocket. He got back up and made his way over to his car, there was 24 hour shop down the road and he was in desperate need of a cigarette. He pulled into the car park and emptied the bottle of whiskey next to him. He got out and stumbled into the shop hastily grabbing the cigarettes and whiskey, and throwing the money down onto the counter. He cracked open the bottle once he had settled himself into the car and took a long slurp. He pulled out onto the main road and lit up a cigarette, not paying attention to the road. He dropped the box of cigarettes and leaned over to pick them up. Without realising it he swerved into the other lane and into the path of oncoming traffic. It wasn't until he heard the persistent honking of a car horn did he realise what he had done, but instead of moving he put his foot on the accelerator and shot forward. He grabbed the velvet box from his pocket and whispered into it "I'll be with you soon." He closed his eyes and waited for the crunch of metal on metal, that would deliver him straight back to her.

Back to his sweet Josephine.