I hate cigarettes, I thought in the large space of my room, sitting on my bed, hands by my side, staring at the floor as the evening sun licked in. If not for cigarettes grandpa would still be healthy and not dying.
*Why do they even smoke?
I fell on my back facing the ceiling, it was hard, hard to let go of an existence.
My career was on the table and my conscience too. Grandpa or my life dream and the others.
It was already difficult to have made it up to the stage I was, I was not letting that down for any meaningless reason.
I got up, grabbed my phone and a jacket, and started for the door. Grandpa was not meaningless, he was the bit that I had. My guardian angel.
I slipped in my sneakers before opening the door and strolling down the stairs. Amber was the only sign of life
