The Ritual of Ash and Ember

The faint crackle of the cigarette ember burns bright in the center of a smoky haze. Her sallow face and bony fingers are illuminated by the glow. A long deep drag heats her airway as smoke swirls around her head. The smoke is trapped for a few seconds before bursting free, adding to the haze. The nicotine and odor burn my nose and eyes, and I breathe shallow, struggling to find oxygen amid the swirls. My chest tightens and I step backward, out of its reach. I slip free of the hazy swirl. After breathing deeply a fresher patch of air, I creep forward again in the direction of the swirl. Ashes fall as the glowing ember dies away, then she crushes the remnants in a bed of stale grey and dusty ashes. An influx of fresh air eases forward as the haze dims and the swirl dies. Her yellowed hands reach for the box and the zippo lighter before the last trace of smoke disappears. She sets her hands for another.