I know that I'm somewhere approaching "old" - somewhere between a cougar and a "little old lady".
But age is just a number.

I had my first cigarette when I was thirteen.
Since then I've born and raised three children.
I served them all, and grovelled before a husband and a vicious mother-in-law.

While doing all of that smoking my cigarette was still chick and fashionable.
It was almost required back then, and even the doctors smoked, and suggested brands.

Now things have changed.
At least they've changed in public - it's almost all non-smoking.
What upsets me is how it changed in private.
But I'm still taking care of the same people, except that they are now 20 years older.
"No Myrtle you shouldn't!" granny-in-law cries when I sneak outside for a quick puff.
Then I puff one drag of nicotine, and I think to myself, "You should have smoked more, you old cow."
Everyday I've heard it, since she turned bloody 90:
"Oh Myrtle I can't see; I wish I was dead. Oh Myrtle I can't hear; I wish I was dead - all day bloody long."
Sometimes I feel like buying her a box of Marlboro and shoving them up her nose, and lighting them all at once.

Then there's the kids - oh no mum, you can't smoke, consider your age!
Is that my karma coming back?
Hell, that's the same crap I told them when they were twelve.

And then there's the husband who treats me like a naughty teenager when I take a considerate smoke around the bend.
This is him: "Myrtle, I can smell smoke! Are you smoking cigarettes?"
Really, hello, what am I supposed to answer to that?
"Oh no honey, I'm just smoking some crack, and shoved some Marlboro ciggies up your mother's nose, so technically she's smoking the cigarettes?"

They say it aged me.
They say it makes me short of breath, and my voice is always hoarse.
I like that, and I love to hide a cough and a hack behind an eloquent hand.

So what?
It's my body.
They don't want me to stop smoking - they want me to serve them forever.

Well guess again, because my service to all has been done.

And therefore I take another round white cylinder and put it between my lips ... and I inhale, and blow a delightful wisp of smoke into the air.
Yes, time takes a cigarette, and puts in your mouth, and frankly my dears, I couldn't give a damn.

I feel you!! Bravo for the story...I love it...more power to us "somewhere in betweeners" who serve others...give us a break all you know it alls!

See you after my smoke break!!

Oops, I just re-read the parameters of the MAD competition again.

I read it yesterday and watched the video, and I thought the competition demanded social criticism similar to the metaphoric anger of the raging man.

Somewhere my eyes missed that one sentence which states that whatever happens in stories must follow after this kind of apocalyptic panic.

Forgiveness, I misunderstood.

I think neither my Escape from the Cult story or this one really fits the bill.
I would be happy to remove the MAD tag in my titles, and just let them be short stories outside any competition.
It's too late to edit my first story, but somehow the feel of this story does seem to fit the bill.
There's certainly a similar feel of fatalism, just in a much more resigned manner.

I'm sure I'm not the only dunce to miss that one sentence, and perhaps it can be redefined on merit.

Anyway, I'm glad I wrote my story, just it bothers me having the MAD tag now, because other members might be perplexed.
So at least the first story should be a normal short story.
I guess what's done is done.

OK "MAD" entry removed from this story.

Still a nice bit of writing...