Face of flames

Driving home from school, rather than of the radio chiming, I sang a song of continuous complaints. My mom, patient as ever, was the ear absorbing my string of grievances. Today it was my annoyance at the effect the approaching summer months would have on my skin. I stared menacingly at my epidermis in the tiny mirror. As we snaked through the maze of peak hour traffic an impatient taxi swerved directly in our path. Increasingly vexed I glared up at the innocent passengers, as though my piercing gaze would magically make the taxi driver apologise and reverse. Nothing could have prepared me for the awaiting visage…

A young boy, maybe six or seven with kind eyes and a benevolent smile waved avidly at me, at that point my heart caught in my throat and my mouth became dry. This kid was the picture of happiness and the most startling detail was that he had no nose. It had clearly been burned off, leaving his face severely mutilated. His skin bore testimony to the licking flames as did his lack of a smell organ. Yet he grinned from ear to ear when he had every reason to bury his face in a corner and never look up again.

I was too ashamed to even look in the mirror again. I’m glad I waved back at the boy because now, every time I look at my reflection my memory offers a snapshot of his face and I shudder at how fault finding I was. Dissatisfied and ungrateful not realizing that I am blessed to have a face and a beautiful one at that.

_Quixotic Novelist

Into the lungs of a smoker

A few days ago our fireplace was suffering severe mood swings; dying randomly in the middle of the day. Just returning from a climate of 40 degrees, winter has not been kind to my family. So the fireplace was lit. A few moments later the entire house stank of smoke. Worse than having your oxygen supply polluted is having everything material permeable to the ghastly stink, clothes, pillows, bags, schools books even my hair smelled of smoke!
Thankfully the flames were contained within the solace of our fireplace, but I developed a lot of empathy for people who have had their homes licked by a vicious glow and choking fumes.

Fires and the smoke that results thereof often spiral out of control due to accidents, but what if it were deliberate? What if someone willingly chose to have their insides become an ash tray? The question I pose, after being choked by smoke: WHY ON EARTH ANYONE WOULD VOLUNTANRILY WANT TO TOUCH-LET ALONE SMOKE-A CIGARETTE?

Perhaps the rule : you’ve got to experience it to understand it, applies. So please do elaborate on the pleasures of smoking because in my blissful ignorance I fail to find even a single benefit.

You wouldn’t want crumpled duvet covers or crackling wall paper. Would you build a home in a suburd susceptible to robberies and other atrocities? What about chipped, yellow floors? Dramatic paint that blinds the eye; churning, complaining appliances that fall permanent prey to Eskom’s hobby: power cuts.

That is in fact the fate of your physical features. Sagging skin turning a crispy shade of ash. Your respiratory system becomes vulnerable and volatile. Discoloured, decaying teeth. Pretty soon your heart rate, immune system and other body functions will be working overtime and decide to quit before you’ve settled on the rigorous realization and smashed the bud to smithereens.

Yet, a smoker sacrifices these natural miracles for the sake of a thin, disposable roll of tobacco. Tragic, isn’t it?

So in case you were under some ignorant misconception, smoking doesn’t make you cool. Sorry

_Quixotic Novelist

Ps: If you’re own health isn’t a pressing priority then I humbly request that you contain your carcinogenic fumes to a controlled vicinity instead of filling our lungs with second hand smoke.