The Camel

An attempt at creative non fiction

Its long slender body lies wanting amongst my weathered fingertips. Its pale complexion I know far too well. Within its flimsy boarders there is habit and misunderstanding. It waits for the eager traveler to release its toxic elixir. A simple orange shield made of cotton is all that protects from the sweet poison. Its simple scent is pleasurable only for a short while. Once it’s started the scent has a tendency to grow foul. There are nineteen others which resemble it exactly.  I remember as the tip burns slowly and the smoke enters my lungs just how much I really hated it. But then again, if I hated it so much why would I keep smoking?

            It has been eight years since the cigarettes first kiss. I was fourteen at the time and going through a growing stage of depression due to things I wish not to discuss. My older brother Brandon had been evolved in some “gang” activities lately and was trying to draw me into the life. I wasn’t interested but was by no means a good child by societal terms. I can’t recall what day of the week it was or even what my brother was wearing, but I do remember I was sitting in my room when he approached me. He seemed rather cheery and had his hand deep in his pocket. When I asked him what was up, he simply smiled and asked me to follow him. Being curious as I was I decided to follow him out into the hall where he was standing by the garage door. Now as memory serves me best I can’t remember how he convinced me to follow him into the garage and let alone walk to the far side of the room with the lights out but he did. We made our way through the assorted boxes of camping gear and sporting equipment by what little light was coming through the window. I remember it was cold and smelled rather musty, cobwebs lurked around the ceiling and an old ceramic doll my sister had stopped playing with stared awkwardly into my eyes from a shelf. When we stopped and the doll’s focus on me was replaced by my brother’s, he removed his hand from his pocket. The conversation is a muted movement of lips and gestures to me now looking back. I remember it went along the line of me needing to step up and be a man. What I do remember rather well is the feeling of power and adrenaline when he revealed the box of Camel filters. Its golden corners resembled the lost treasures of Babylon. The Camel’s cheesy grin was planted directly in the center of the small box. I remember smelling the cigarettes’ fresh tobacco when he opened the package. It ran freely through my senses, causing every thought I had to kneel before its flammable demise. My brother then withdrew a blue lighter. He showed me the ancient way of lighting the Camel and then I followed. At first the harshness of the smoke squeezing my lungs was overwhelming but my desire to be cool caused me to keep going. I could taste the chalky aroma sticking to each and every one of my taste buds. He told me I was one of the gang now and could keep me supplied with as many camels as I needed as long as I “helped” their cause. I was more interested in the cheesy camels grin than I was helping any cause but I agreed to the terms. 

            I do not smoke now for the same reasons I did when I was fourteen but I still remember the first kiss I ever had. I know now that the cigarette is indeed not my friend and could care less if I became well known for displaying its mending process. I look back at the grin on the camels face and have come to realize the irony of it. It is laughing at me because it knows that it has taken control. I do not smoke camel filters anymore but now have switched to Marlboro menthols. The mint flavoring helps distort the fact that I am in fact killing myself. You would think that knowing all this would help me stop but in fact it does not. I lost something really important that day when I took that first kiss. It bothers me to know that something so small has changed my life. I walk the streets and look upon the naked night sky, a slave to the camel’s commands; his unseen chains guiding my feet to a false hope of salvation. One day I will defeat this hold the camel has on me but for now I take yet another kiss from the cigarette and blow my troubles away.                                 

Reviews

[Shellie]

Really interesting write. Im keeping a journal at the moment of my constant battle with the cigarettes so i loved this piece coz it was so different to what im writing myself, it was refreshing to see a different outlook on it. I love the way you wrote about it. That the simple[but stupid] act of smoking can become such a great story! i wish we could learn, us smokers. Great write.

[WriterMe]

This was a very interesting write. I say the details were very good. The again, all your story's details are exquisite. A very simple story line, but it held so much meaning to it. A very good write =]