original composition

Original Composition
While the cancerous fumes entered my lungs, the life threatening chemicals made me feel relaxingly calm, so I continued anyways. That was when I was still a kid, a fourteen year old nicotine addict, presently I am sixteen. I still remember those days in the past. Sometimes I used to question myself, “When will this addiction cease?” I have never obtained an answer to that question, until recently, when I experienced the loss of my best friend.
The cause of death was from second-hand smoke.
As I walked on the memorable sidewalk in a steady pace, I reminisced my past years. Back then, when we were walking home from school, just like any other day, I offered him a smoke. I had received the same old answer, as I expected.
“I’ve never seen you smoke, want one?” I asked knowingly.
“Sure just one,” he responded. The response he gave confused me for a second. “Ha, just kiddin’!” he chuckled shortly after.
“Ah, I actually thought you were serious,” I muttered sarcastically.
“I don’t have a problem with you inhaling that, but I think you should stop, maybe just for your own health or maybe for the people around you. Back then my father was a smoker and he finally realized that...” He explained in a dramatic way.
I quickly interrupted his statement.
“Don’t worry about it. I know that there are risks, but everyone does it and besides, what are the chances,” I said with confidence.
Every time I walk on this street, in my imagination, I have flashbacks of conversations of me chatting with him. Sometimes I feel that I should have been in his place instead. Sometimes I wish time can degenerate back into the past, so mistakes can be corrected.
The tragic loss of my pal makes my heart ache with pain and regret, however, it has taught me that we have been blessed just being able to breathe clean air and just by being here. I learned that, when people are giving you a hand and helping you out for something, instead of telling them that you are sorry for being a burden, be grateful to them for helping you.
As I stopped at the end of the street, I pulled a cigarette pack of my favorite brand out of my pocket and deliberately lit it up. I examined the smoke rising through the winds. As my teardrop dripped onto the concrete, I stomped on the presently lit cigarette and tossed the pack into the garbage. I glanced straight up into the sky, even beyond the clouds and said, “Thank you.”