You and your brothers had a good relationship with you being a year older- Stanford and Stanley pines. Twins. Unfortunately for you, you weren’t the ‘smart one’ in the family- or even relatively close. Your little brother, Stanford, 12 years old, was much smarter. Your parents didn’t pay much mind to you, and they sucked. But whatever. That was fine.

It was just you, Stanford and your mother home at the time, father and Stanley out at the store or… something. You forgot, wasn’t paying much attention. You were watching the tv and when the guy put a cigarette, you grew intrigued by it, taking one from your mother’s purse and lighting it. Your brother went to stop you but you already took a firm puff before coughing at the gust of clouded wind that invaded your organs, your tiny body. Your mother noticed, scowling, “what the hell are you doing?”

“S-sorry mother-“ you said desperately as you reached to put it out before you were interrupted sharply by a loud tone

“Don’t you dare put that out! That is a perfectly good cigarette and you are going to finish it.” Your mother said, crossing her arms

“But I don’t wanna-..”

“And I don’t wanna be the mother of a quitter. Finish it.” She scolded even as you started coughing again, lighting it up more. “Oh Jesus Christ you can’t be even smoke a cigarette right.” She rolled her eyes, getting frustrated as you started crying, “don’t you dare cry. Don’t you ever cry! You wanted this.”

“Are you punishing me for smoking or stealing..?” You asked, tone full of confusion

“I’m punishing you for being alive.” She scowled as she watched you puff in another hesitant inhale of the vapor that fogged your lungs, making it hard to breath, the tobacco running through your veins as you wiped tears from your eyes with a small sniffle.

Stanford just stood in his room, glancing through a crack in the door, trying to keep away from both mother and the smoke clouding the room and his lungs.