It is 14:33 East African Time.
This is my second post in Serey today.
Cigarette And School
My English teacher tried her best to teach me the spellings of many words but I could not in any way spell the word cigarette. I seemed to misplace one letter or the other
It is perhaps my science teacher, God rest his soul, who made the letters of cigarette flow ceremoniously in my mind. He taught me, and I got it all right, cigarette smoking was a health hazard.
So cigarette smoking can cause cancer, heart disease and problems with the blood. The word cigarette became so easy for me. I could spell it.
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Peer Pressure And Cigarette Smoking
l loathed smocking them cigarettes the way one abhors a deadly plague. I admired less those who were hooked to the habit. Walking with nicotine soiled fingers, lips as red as one who fed on blood and with the cough of an asthmatic we're what I feared more than the ailments.
Yet my peers never gave me peace; there was something I was missing. It was then that I decided to try only one stick. Just one stick and I will never ever smoke again.
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Caught With Pants Down
My craving to smoke became more overwhelming than what my science teacher had drummed into my oblongata. It was then, Jarenga, one of my peers, came home with a stick of cigarette. I saw heaven fall down and welcome me to its bossom. At long last I will inhale that warm smoke into my lungs and blow it out again. I was sure to master the art if blowing smoke through the nostrils.
With burning fingers, we stole an amber of fire from my mother's kitchen and ran out with it. The stick had broken into two and Jarenga and I lit our two pieces.
As we inhaled deeply allowing smoke to drift from our nostrils, we heard a loud booming voice. I had coughed myself to perfect smoking when this happened. It was the harsh voice of my stern dad.
Throwing our smouldering pieces, we showed a clean pair of heels. We fell and rose trying to put as much distance between my father and us. He never chased us. No! My father knew better than that.
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Seeking Spiritual Intervention
Late in the evening is when I made my comeback to the home. I steelthily tiptoed to the sitting room. Yet before arriving in the room, I overheard a person deep in prayer. When I opened the door and inch, I spied my dad drenched in sweat and praying earnestly. He was binding all the spirits of smoking in the mighty name of Jesus.
I fell on my knees and walked on them till I reached my dad. He had his eyes tightly closed but he moved his hands and placed them on my head. I was crying hysterically. My dad prayed for me. I failed lighter.
Never will I touch a cigarette again in my life. Smoke all the cigarettes in the world for all I care. With me, never will I entertain the lethal stick.
1327.076 SRY