The Little Devil

The cool air of night brushed against his cheeks. He felt a pain in his chest, an ache that once was nothing. His eyes flickered to the thing, the smooth, comforting touch of the cigarette in his hand. The very first time he let the softness of it touch his lips, the very first time he drew in the smoke he was hooked. Nothing could make him depart from the thing that made him forget the pain of life, not even his mother's death of lung cancer could persuade him. And now he lost it all, the scholarship he achieved from swimming to attend the college he most desired to attend, and his girlfriend whom he held so dear left because she couldn't deal with the smoke anymore.

He looked down upon his only friend, a tear slid from his bloodshot, tired, heavy eye. "You should have told me. You should have told me you were bad for me."