I Quit Smoking and Now I’m in Hell

A Short Story

It happened every time I smoked. Not right away, but the migraines always came. The headaches weren’t fun, but still it was worth it. Except when it wasn’t, because sometimes… it was bad. And I mean bad. My wife said I was addicted, but that wasn’t right. I didn’t chain smoke. I didn’t even smoke every day, it’s just that sometimes I had to have one, consequences be damned. That was her argument. “You know it gives you headaches and you still do it!” So I was an addict, I guess. Maybe she was right.

The pain always seemed to arrive within the hour, with varying severity. Some were bad, but some were downright crippling. I was suffering one of the latter when I finally decided I had to quit. When the next urge came I resisted as long as I could, which was less than ten minutes. I couldn’t believe I folded so quickly. The desire to smoke would arrive so unpredictably and it always consumed me. After that I threw the cigarettes out. When the next urges came, I was home without even a car to go grab a pack if I wanted. I layed down to brace myself, and I could hear the smoke calling me and telling me it will all be okay, if you just smoke one cigarette.

But I stayed strong. Then the headache came anyway. It started sharp, then swelled into something strange, like pressure building somewhere between my head and my mind. It was getting so bad that—

POP

That was the sound of my head popping like a balloon. Literally. My head exploded. I must confess, I didn’t see that coming.

Immediately after, I found myself in a dark, gloomy, decaying house with peeling walls, ripped up floors, and crumbling ceilings. Something about it felt off, as if the air itself was sighing. I barely had a chance to take in my surroundings when I saw an angel walking toward me. Seemed odd, in a place like this. He looked so bright and mysterious, a stark contrast to this decrepit building.

He stood right in front of me and, before I could say anything, the angel slapped me. “You idiot! Why didn’t you listen?”

What the hell, I thought. I immediately questioned my initial assessment. This did not seem like an angel, not that I’d ever met one. He also seemed… a little hazy around the edges.

“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my face, “but what do you mean?”

“We were so close! The enchantment would have ended soon.”

“I’m sorry. Enchantment?”

“Someone put you under an enchantment. Couldn’t you tell?”

“Who would do that?”

“How should I know? Maybe you cut in front of someone at the Shake Shack. Could you really not tell?”

“I thought enchantments were just in fairy tales, and stories for children.”

“I forget how blind you people are.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Didn’t you notice the headaches?”

“Of course,” I said. “That’s why I quit.”

“Lord give me the patience to deal with this idiot,” the hazy angel muttered to himself, or to God I suppose. “Those headaches were coming one way or another. Tobacco was what was keeping your head from popping like a pimple. I sent you clear messages. You were answering my calls perfectly. Why did you stop?”

“Everyone says tobacco is bad for you. And I kept getting headaches every time I smoked. What was I supposed to think?”

The hazy angel seemed especially irritated now. “You believed… them? The people who lie about everything? I wasn’t bad for you. I was saving you.”

“You? Or tobacco?”

“I am tobacco,” he said. “I honestly can’t fathom how you people survive anymore, just running around blind. Your ancestors weren’t as dim-witted as you.

“Where is this place?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Look around you. It’s Hell. This is your room.” He pointed to a cracked sign on the wall that had my name on it.

“I’m in Hell?” I cried out in a panic. “Oh God, no.”

“Will you calm down? You’re embarrassing yourself. It’s not that bad. I’ve got a room here myself, though I admit, my mansion in heaven is much nicer.”

“You can go to both?”

“Of course. It’s a free country, isn’t it?”

“So then, why am I here?”

“I haven’t any earthly idea why you chose to come down here. I come down here when I need some perspective, and to do important work. That’s why I’m here now, for your sake. Someone thinks you’re important, though I can’t see what all the fuss is about.”

The room looked so depressing. I thought I would go mad if I stayed here, though I must admit there wasn’t as much torture as I expected. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t see any. It was just a dreary, lifeless place.

“Can you help me get to heaven?” I asked.

“Only you can do that.”

“Is there a door out of Hell?”

“A door out of Hell? Where do you people come up with this stuff?”

I was so lost. I could leave, apparently, but there was no door. I asked many more questions, but each answer only confused me further and annoyed the hazy angel who looked like he’d never met anyone so dull and unpleasant.

Days and weeks passed and I felt like I was already slipping into madness. I started talking to myself more than I talked to the hazy angel, who seemed to provide no answers, just insults and impatience. I held onto the hope that I could leave—that he was telling the truth about that—but he never told me how. He seemed to think it the most obvious thing in the world, as if a bright sign said “Heaven: this way!”.

One evening, after wandering those dreary halls all day, I saw my smoky companion and collapsed onto a rotting, broken couch next to him.

“Can I have a cigarette?”

He smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.” He removed a paper from his pocket, plucked a piece of his leafy hair, and rolled a cigarette, handing it to me.

I was trying to figure out how to light it when the hazy angel snapped his fingers, igniting the end.

I inhaled slowly, and when I exhaled, I floated up to heaven on a beautiful cloud of smoke.