Imagine: A short story (just under 500 words.)

I had a cassette tape in my hands, John Lennon's Imagine, which when opened reveals a stash of cigarettes. Held by the pegs in the middle of the cassette case was my lighter, white, with the words 'be happy' and a smiley face printed on the side. In the cover slot I had two self rolled cigarettes without filters, a Winfield stolen from my Dad's pack and a small plastic bag which contained a minute amount of marijuana which I stole from a party. The case was bound shut with a couple of elastic bands, and was usually found bound to my passport which is my main form of ID. The only two things I have on me at all times.

I go into my parent’s ensuite and rummage through the cabinet. The cabinet only really contains a few things but each thing has multiple versions of itself with flood the small cabinet and makes it near impossible to find what you want. I see a few hairdryers, I doubt any of them work, a broken mirror, numerous brushes and combs, empty plastic sheets with all the pills popped out of them, a lot of aftershave etc. etc.

I find a bag of cotton buds, most of them are brown and shrivelled and stuck together, which I figure is from some spillage. I take out the freshest looking one I can and pull off a few strands. I take my cassette case, take off the elastic band and pull out one of the filter-less cigarettes. I pull a bobby pin from my hair and use it to push the cotton bud down the paper funnel, which was originally going to be the filter until I realised now horrible it was.

I set outside and take a look at the full moon. It is in the middle of the night sky and completely surrounded by light grey clouds, the sky looks like a surrealist painting.

Behind the shed I take a drag on my cigarette and inhale deep, holding the smoke in my lungs. It begins to hurt but I don't care, my head begins to spin as I exhale triumphantly. I watch the tip of the cigarette burn orange as I inhale again. I look up at the night sky, at the perfect moon amongst the grey and blow smoke in that direction, obscuring my view for a second and making everything grey. I close my eyes and try to think of my happy place, then quickly open them again so I can enjoy my cigarette.

I'm sucking filter and my fingers are tinted a murky brown, but it doesn't matter. I stumble across the yard to the back door with an incredible feeling of peace and relaxation, for a second it doesn't even matter that smoking is slowly killing me. I close my eyes and fumble my way into bed and thank John Lennon that I'm alive.