FicWad

I couldn't help it. I felt like I was dying. I slumped into the big leather chair, thinking about how chill this army must have been. Well, maybe not chill. Lazy would be the right word.
I looked around at my dim surroundings and closed my eyes, resting them for just a moment. Then, next to me, I noticed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, almost illuminated on the table. I stared for just a moment, and picked up the pack with my good arm.
I examined the pack in wonder. I'd never smoked, and never planned on it. Just say no, all that crap. But the thought of smoke entering my lungs, swirling inside of me wasn't repulsive, it was comforting. Probably just my wish for death coming into play again. What was it that Kurt Vonnegut had once said again? Oh, right. That smoking was a coward's way of suicide. True enough for me.
I held a cigarette between my lips, holding the lighter with my good hand, my gimp arm ever supported by its sling, just hanging there. I lit the cigarette, quickly placing the lighter next to me so I could free my hand for the cigarette.
I took a deep drag, afraid of how my body would react. I knew some people vomitted and others had a violent cough from their first drag. I released the smoke with just a small cough, the smoke calming my body. Wasn't this shit supposed to make you jittery?
It seems my body was made for destruction.
I smoked the whole cigarette, until there was nothing left. I stared at the pack for a moment. This was such an addicting habit... did I really want to start? Shit, the only habit I had was killing. This was a damn slight healthier. I pulled out a cig, put it between my lips, and repeated.
Halfway through the cigarette, Mack burst in, kicking down the planks I had crept through that blocked the door. The sawdust mixed with my smoke, dancing in the air. He was wearing his bandana over his nose and mouth. He pulled it down around his neck when he entered the room to talk to me.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. I slumped deeper in my chair.
"I'm fucking relaxing," I snapped, feeling the chemicals in me evoke sharp irritation.
"Listen, Singer, you-" he smelled the air, looked at my hand. "Are you smoking?"
"What of it? Got a problem?" I sneered, taking a dramatic puff.
"Yeah, I do." He snatched the pack and my cigarettes. "You are not getting emphysema and dying on us. You need your lungs."
"Just like I need two arms, right?" The corner of my lip twitched, mocking him.
He lost it. He threw my drugs to the ground and grabbed me by the shirt with both hands, his face inches from mine, his teeth bared.
"You have got to get over you damn pity party. Yes, your arm is busted. Yes, most of your friends are dead. My friends are dead, too. I'm fighting for them. You fight and then you crawl away as though you're in regret. Not exactly good for morale-"
"Do you know how many people have died because of me?" I interrupted, "And not just from my gun. From my actions. From just a simple glance at those bastards."
"Singer!" He was exasperated. "That's why we're doing this! To avenge them, to make sure nothing like this happens again!"
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feeling traces of smoke still in me.
"Smoking is not the solution," he spoke gentler, "Eventually you'll get tremors in your arm and you'll have two useless arms. Might as well amputate at that point."
I opened my eyes and glared at him. I knew he was right and I couldn't stand it. I spat in his face and shoved into him with my left side, my gimp side. Violent pain shot through me as I did so. I stood up, looked at Mack, who had fallen to the ground. I spun around and walked out of the room without a second glance, my head high.
If I couldn't be right, I could at least kick some ass.

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AN: It feels good to put a story on here. This isn't my best, but I thought it was an interesting concept. I have a character named Singer, in a story I hope to put on here. I was listening to "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey, heard that line and was like "WHOA. IDEA." And she would smoke... if Mack or Shane wouldn't stop her. Shane isn't mentioned in this, but if Mack wasn't around, Shane would definitely stop her.
Anyway, the full story is called "This is Anarchy." And this would take place around the early middle of the story, since Singer's mental state is only just starting to deteriorate... but more on that later >;3
Enjoy, this bitch is writing againnnn.