Gemotions

He stared at the overflowing ashtray on the porch, a silent testament to his nerves. The flickering flame of his cigarette danced in the wind. The familiar scent of tobacco didn't calm him as it used to. He was back where he started.

He could hear the distant murmur of the television from inside the house, the sound a constant reminder of his dependence. He ground the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. A sharp pang of guilt struck him. He was a burden.

He took a slow breath, inhaling the crisp night air. He didn't want to go in yet, not just yet. But the cold was seeping in, and the sky was darkening.