Dying will

Puff.

Smoke came out from a man's mouth, flowing like waves trying to fill the small room. The room had a simple desk besides a slightly open window, a slightly comfy chair to not have back problems but not so comfortable so one wouldn't relax so much in it. On the desk was a closed laptop and a crystal vase that kept the ashes and cigarette buds. The man looked quite plain as he was wearing glasses, white t-shirt, black trousers and one simple golden ring on his left-hand's ring finger. He was sitting on the chair in front of the desk, a half consumed lit cigarette in one hand and a scientific paper in the other. Reading and smoking had become his routine, his expression never changing, drinking water from time to time to not feel so dry. He didn't smoke fast nor so deep, he didn't read all that fast either, contemplating the sentences on the paper, musing on the discussion written on it and creating his own ideas about it.

- Live well…

A sudden memory came to him, unexpected and uninvited. His eyes unfocused on his reading and simply looked up at the slightly opened window. Of course, there was never a day in which he didn't think about it, the pain and sadness that came on that day onward. He reminisced, there wasn't suffering in his eyes, his heart had long stilled on it and just a trace of melancholy flashed.

He felt his ring heating a bit, evoking more memories in his head. He simply accepted it and thought on that day and those words…

- Live well…

Same words repeated time and time again. Her voice flooding his mind. If one looked at his current life, one could say he was living well and comfortably. He lived in a small apartment complex, but for one person the space was ample, he had a small car but decent and a bicycle to ride to work or other places, his job was stable, and his salary wasn't bad. He had quite a few savings as he didn't spend much money on a day to day basis, he didn't drink alcohol anymore nor he did any drugs other than smoking cigarettes, which he didn't even smoke that much, sometimes a single box of 20 lasted him an entire week or a bit more. He wasn't an antisocial and had a nice relationship with people overall, he didn't know but quite a few people looked up to him.

'I have been living well, huh…' A bitter smile appeared on his expression as he looked at the cigarette. His iris had color, but his eyes were colorless and dull. He had never liked smoking, but it was the only thing he could do. He was honoring his promise to the best of his abilities.

He smoked again, and noticed the cigar was almost fully consumed. Looking at the box, he knew it was the last one. He exhaled the smoke calmly again, breathing normally as he gave one last, deep smoke as he looked at the slightly opened window again. He couldn't close it, he shouldn't close it, so he didn't close it.

He shed the ashes in the crystal ash tray and exhaled again, putting off the cigarette as he was doing so and slowly stood up, leaving the paper on the desk for later.

Picking a coat that was on the chair, he put it on and left the room smelling like smoke. Invisible, but inherently there.

He walked out of the apartment, thinking of buying more this time.

The room would be left with the ashes slightly being blown by the gentle breeze that came from the window, cooling the extinguished cigarette.