A/N: I know some of you will be put off by the lengths of the paragraphs. I will provide a link for 'Readability' a web browser tool that may help. If you still don't like the length of my paragraphs then I am truly sorry, there's nothing I can do about that. Please enjoy. Here is the link to readability: http://lab(dot)arc90(dot)com/experiments/readability/

Guerilla Smoke



Smoke, grey and foggy, filled the absolutely white room. Streams of salt water ran down the pale surface of her skin, following the contours of her face. From her eyes, her soul is leaking; spilling the beans if you will. Letting the worlds, both physical and spiritual, know her secrets, vices, weaknesses. She's been still. She's sitting silently in front of her window, atop a white cushioned bed with tears escaping at every possible moment. The moon stares at her as she wonders where all the tears are coming from. A red light blinks in rhythmic motion from the corner of her eye. The glass ashtray lies by her side on a glass end table filled with the ashes, the remains, of her little friends known to kill. She lights another one. Picking the last one from the blue box with one hand and grabbing for the matches in the other. She lights it. Inhales. One, two, three seconds pass before she releases the demons swimming through the smoke. She's waiting to be consumed, hoping the smoke will devour her – in one piece. The red light continues to blink. Blink. Blink. Though this distracted her attention, she hardly moved. She's on autopilot. The only movement her possessed mind will allow is the bending of her left elbow so that her thin lips can wrap around the end of her killer friends. There's a struggle as she tries with everything she has to slip away. She begs for an ending to her sad story. Reaching as far back into her mind she finds nothing – no memories, no thoughts, and no feelings. She is numb. Her mind is empty; as empty as the soul in which her body encompasses, as empty as her one bedroom devoid of other life, as empty as the heavens above her. She begs for a trace of something. Her eyes blink allowing the last bit of humanity she had left. Dry eyes cry no more. Exhalations release the last bit of guerrilla smoke. She places the butt in its tomb to be with its like. A mix of her dead assassins piled about together, smothered by the ashes. Dry eyed and smoke free. She didn't like being alone.

Minutes pass and the red light continues on. Nervous and agitated she approaches the light. Her shaking hand reaches for the button, breathing becomes harder, more intense, her skin is crawling with spiders of anxiety. She hesitates. Her little white friends are gone. She has nothing to comfort her now. Nothing to fill her lung, blood, body and soul, with the calming sensation of warm smoke. Dry eyes cry again. It's painful for her to flip flop like so, to have no control over her own mind and to cry over a lack of real emotion. It's frustrating and tiring. Her fingers creep toward the button on the black box lying on the kitchen counter. Time is at a near stop. One, two, three, seconds pass. Her finger touches the button ever so slightly, just enough to activate the voice inside: "One new message" and a beep. Within those few seconds, time freezes, her tears stop in place and her lungs collapse. When time starts again there is silence. This is what she was afraid of. She yanks the black box off of kitchen counter and it flies through the air finally crashing into a white wall. The little pieces are scattered on her white carpet. She should feel miserable, but she doesn't. At this she cries harder than ever. She collapses to the floor and melts into a fetal position. She closes her crying eyes and begs to be taken away. Where to? She doesn't know. She doesn't care so long as she's carried away from her reality.

1 Hour Later

Her eyes open. As the last bit of water falls to the ground, she notices her once white room is slowly turning red. She smiles and breathes a sigh of relief. This is familiar to her. She continues to lie there with her eyes on the ceiling waiting for the red to make its way to the top of the room, to then engulf her body, her mind, and her soul. As each second passes the pieces of her little black box turns red. This red abyss is spinning around her, faster and faster, as the seconds move forward. Moments pass, the spinning stops. She's lost in her own subconscious – the mind of Millie Chilvers. The moment she realizes her entire apartment is not coated red, Millie jumps up. She's convinced she's gone forever. With a hopefulness in her eyes, she scans the room. Her mind jumps to the unopened pack of Embassies in the kitchen drawer just below where her answering machine once sat. As she lights and inhales the intoxicating smoke, her free hand moves. She places it on her chest just left of center. One more inhalation as she gently pushers her fingers through the moist sweat covered skin. The blood runs over her fingertips, down her chest, soaking in the cotton fibers of her white shirt. She reaches for the pounding. With each movement her chest opens more, blood flows more freely, and the pounding organ is removed. Moving left foot then right, not thinking at all, she moves towards her front door. Her blood soaked friends are in one hand and her heart lies in her right palm. Drips of life make a path behind her, disappearing in the red floor. She turns the doorknob, heart still in hand, Embassies in her pocket, and a cigarette rests between her lips. Millie wanders off in a world she's never seen. The red room is left behind her as she encounters something truly magnificent.

Blood is dripping between her webbed fingers. Heart pumping in hand, quicker now, as she looks down the black hallway seeing a bright light in starburst with my eye in the middle inviting her in. The beating organ gets wilder as the aorta stares back at my unblinking blue eye. With each beat blood falls slowly to its destination – the black floor under Millie's hand. She stands in that moment, ashes floating below her, smoke escaping between her lips and nostrils. She throws the finished cigarette to the ground, turns left and the room that belonged her unfriendly neighbor is changed. There is no door, only dirt and sticks, trees and flowers. Everything is devoid of colour – completely black and white. Mystified, she turns and walks, her stature not changing through the movement. Toes and drops of blood touch lightly on the dirt filled ground; blood bringing life and the touch of her skin bringing colour – and it's beautiful.

She's walking amidst a forest rainbow. Reds and greens, pinks and yellows, greens, browns; colours she's seen before but never noticed. She's never taken in its beauty, its hypnotic appeal. She walks forward, her body more loose. She's freed from the demons in the hallway. The cigarette and its ashes lie on the cold ground where they belong. Millie doesn't even notice the amount of seconds that have passed since her last deep inhale of death. She's noticing a new world now. A beautiful world. Her bare feet touch the ground below her. She feels the dirt, leaves -both dead and alive, sticks, tree bark, between her toes and her cheeks pull into a little smile. The organ in her hand is pumping slower now. She's relaxed, its relaxed. The drops of blood continue to brighten this new world for Millie and she's lost in a moment of happiness. Tears shall not fall in this world. Tears shall not be present, for if they appear, it will only bring good.

Moving ever so slightly, she relaxes her shoulders and eyelids, and walks as a normal person should toward a patch of flowers. A mix of tulips - red, oranges, yellows, and whites. Lilies by her left arm. A weeping willow stands behind her. She takes in all of the beauty and has no idea what to make of it. I can see in her face how confused, yet happy, she is. Her cheeks pull her lips ever so slightly to form the tiniest of smiles, while the skin on her forehead come together to make waves of wonder. The heart, her heart, is placed so intricately between the patch of lilies and tulips. Blood mixes with the dirt, grass, and weeds. Millie's blood stained hands dangle at her side as she stands and turns towards the single weeping tree in the center of this new place. In an instant I see the happiness get washed away by a tide of torture as the tears of leaves fall in front of her feet. Cheeks and forehead relax into a frighteningly numbing stare. She cries with it.

A/N: If you don't understand what's going on yet, don't be alarmed there will be additional chapters(:

If you want to advise as to what I can add or expand, please PM me or if you're writing a review, you can mention it there.

Thanks for reading. New chapter coming.