This Story is called Luckies. The name is based off the cigarette brand "Lucky Strike". The name will make more sense once the story is read. The thing about this story is that it's very cliche. I enjoy cliche stories so I that's how I wrote my story.
This story is still a work in progress, so there are still things that need to be done to it. The grammar and spelling still need to be further fixed, so bear with me.
WARNING! EXPLICIT LANGUAGE/CONTENT.
LUCKIE’S
INTRODUCTION
Saturday,
October 25th 7:30am
A snowy bone chilling breeze blowing
in from the open window, and the phone ringing repeatedly woke me up from my
mindless coma I called sleep. I didn’t
sleep well that night. My schedule was
never the same. I worked as a CTS Decon
(crime and trauma scene decontamination).
You know, the people who have the pleasure to take care of some sad
bastard’s mess after he offed himself.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was good money. And not many other people were capable of doing the job. I was on call 24/7, so I never knew when I
would be woken up by a phone call. I
would always anticipate being called in, so I was never able to fall into that
deep, REM sleep. I was taking a leave
of absence to take care of some personal business. I had enough money to hold me over until I was ready to go back
to work.
Before dragging my self out of my
messy bed, I reached over to my end table where I kept a lighter and a pack of
Lucky Strikes cigarettes. Slowly reaching for the pack, I flinched at the sound
of another phone ring. I composed
himself from the shock, then quickly grabbed the pack. I taped out a cigarette,
and lit it before I was rudely interrupted again.
With another ring I gained enough
strength to walk across the room to a half empty bottle of whisky and a dusty
glass on top of the dresser.
I poured himself a glass before
bothering to answer. I took a few sips
of the cheap booze, and a couple puffs of my cigarette.
I decided to take a glance at the
mirror hanging over the dresser. I saw nothing but the old blue boxers and
ripped t-shirt I was wearing. I tried
to find something about my self that was worth looking at, but to me there
never was. I wasn't unattractive, just
a little rusty. My ashy brown hair fell
to my chin in a nappy mess from the old pillow I slept on. I had a face full of
whiskers that hadn't been shaved in weeks. And my eyes… I was always told I had
intense eyes. I never understood what
they were talking about.. But to me,
all I ever saw was a waist of life.
When the long criticizing stair at
my self in the mirror came to an end, I lifted my glass to my mouth ready to
take another sip. But before I could
taste the sweet burning sensation of the alcohol, I was interrupted yet again
by that fucking telephone.
Frustrated at the lack of peace and
silence, I swished the rest of the whisky around in the glass, and shot what
was left.
I sat the glass back down on the top
of the dresser before answering the phone.
I paused and took another quick glance in the mirror making eye contact
with my self. My depression deepened a
little. Just realizing what I was
doing, I ran across the room to the end table to answer the phone before it
could ring again.
I grabbed the receiver and lifted it
to my ear. "Yeah?" I asked tired and irritated. "Do
you know what time it is?"
It was Charlotte, my ex-wife. I cringed at the sound of her voice. I did what I could to prepare my self for
the speech I'd heard a thousand fucking times before about what I had done
wrong this time.
Charlotte and I were divorced about
two years ago. We both blamed each
other of course, but the honest truth was, we simply weren’t good for each
other anymore. With my job and drinking
problem, and Charlotte’s job and spending problem it was anybody’s game.
Before I answered her, I purposely
took my time to take another puff of my cigarette. While blowing the smoke in the receiver releasing my
frustration.
She asked again. "Christopher! Don't tell me you're too lazy to even look
at the clock!" I rolled
my eyes in response. I decided to
answer with a satisfying, smart-ass comment.
"Well, from the looks of it, it's day time." I always enjoyed pissing her off even
further then she already was. "You
know, this arrangement is never going to work if you don't do your
part!" I paused for a moment
in confusion trying to recall anything about an arrangement. But nothing came to mind. "What the hell are you talking about
Charlotte?"
I knew there was something important
I was supposed to do, but I was probably drunk when the arrangement was
made. Hard liquor seemed like the only
way to ease the pain of her voice.
"I don't
even know why I attempt to do this again with you Chris! I should have known you would back out at
the last minute. You’ve always been so
good at disappointment."
In my mind, I didn't think I had to
put up with her shit anymore, but I always forget… She's a woman. I lingered
and took another puff of my cigarette. "Why don't you just save us some
time and tell me what I screwed up on so we can both get back to our
day?" "Your daughter!"
My eyes widened after
hearing what she said. "It's
the 20th Chris!
Remember? She's staying with you
until New Year’s!" My chest
contracted as I took a deep breath when the memory of my daughter snapped into
my head.
Charlotte and I used to have joint
custody of our 14 year old daughter, Victoria.
Thinking about it, I could hardly remember the last time I saw her. I used to spend every other weekend with
her, but since my recent increase of responsibility at work; I wasn't able to
provide a good environment for her. At
least that was the excuse I used. There
were many reasons I wasn’t allowed Victoria to stay with me. So Charlotte
received full custody.
It had to have been at least a year
and a half since I saw her last.
Charlotte and I both thought it was time for her to stay with me for a
while.
As memories of the family I used to
have raced through my head, I forgot about the lit cigarette I was
holding. It was almost burnt out by
now. As I snapped my self out of my
flash backs I glanced at my cigarette and placed it in the ash tray beside
me. I had to take a seat before I could
hear anymore. So I sat at the edge of
my bed, and put my hand to my head.
Charlotte answered with a soft,
disappointed voice. "Listen… Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. If you don't want her to stay I'll take her
right back home!" I was
confused about the choice of words she used.
Realizing what she had said, I panicked and said; “Take her back home? You're here already?" I quickly walked around to the other
side of my bed where the window was.
Anxiously, I looked out of my window to see if I could find them through
the snow covered glass, but I didn't see any sight of them. "Not yet. We're about 10 minutes away.
But if you don't want her there, I can just –" "No!" I said interrupting
her. "Please… Bring her
over. It's about time I saw my little
girl." I could only finished my sentence in practically a
whisper. I walked back around to the end table to finish the conversation. "She's not so little anymore,
Chris. She's growing up. You would know that if work didn't get in
the way. But work always came first,
didn't it?" I thought about
what she just said. She didn’t know it,
but she was the only person in the world that could actually hurt my feelings,
but I never told her that. I was too
proud. I thought it made me weak. "Charlotte. I'm –" I halted my words at the sound of silence on the other
end. She had hung up. I exhaled in disappointment, but finished my
sentence as if she were still there. "I'm sorry."
I gently sat down the receiver. I took a moment to think about what
Charlotte said. Maybe I did care about
work more than Victoria. But in my mind
that seemed impossible.
I shook my head and composed my
self. I had to get ready for my
daughter's arrival.
So I walked back over to the
dresser. I opened the third drawer down
and grabbed an old pair of jeans and threw them on. I threw on an old pair of canvas shoes I’ve had since the
’80’s. They’re were black, but they
were so old and worn they looked grey.
I impatiently waited for Charlotte
to arrive with Victoria. I grabbed my
cigarettes and lighter and put them in my back pocket. I took another look out the window to see if
they were there, but no one yet. So I
just decided to head down stairs to wait for them.
The apartment I lived in was pretty
beat up and a bit old. The floor cricked, and the paint was peeling. And the lights on the balcony would flicker,
but there was no other place I called home.
Not much contact between neighbors. Only a quick greeting as we passed
by.
Gathering my thoughts, I
quickly walked across the balcony about to head down stairs. But I realized I forgot my jacket. Normally I wouldn't give a shit, but since
Victoria was coming, I didn't want to risk getting sick. So I hurried back to my apartment. I ran through the living room, down the hall
way, and to my bedroom in search of my leather jacket. I tore through my closet, threw all kinds of
articles of clothing around the room.
Desperately searching, I saw my jacket lying over the chair next to the
window. I stumbled over the mess and
grabbed the jacket from the chair. I
forcefully put each arm in its sleeve, not even bothering to zip up the
front. I brushed my hair away from his
face, trying to look somewhat
presentable.Other places you can find me:
http://pinterest.com/missspinedecay/
http://missspine.tumblr.com/
https://www.facebook.com/missspine
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