A short story by Melody

I had to kill her.

I hate to do it; I have, after all, considered her my best friend since adolescence. But I've tried to kill her before... many times, in fact. But still she keeps coming back, like some monster in a B horror movie, you know the ones: the hero stabs it or shoots it or burns it up (or perhaps all three of those things) and yet, just as the hero starts to relax and kiss the girl, the monster reappears over his shoulder...

Yeah, she's just like that.

And yet, I always welcome her back. She is next to me through thick and thin, sharing my joy and my sorrow, my triumphs and pain. When I feel that all the world is against me, there she is, by my side, hand in hand... comforting me.

The thing is, she's trying to kill me, too.

She's a little more subtle about it than I am, but nonetheless, I know what she's up to. She seduces me with her comforting ways, whispering that it's all good, that everything will be okay, even while she is positioning the knife to cut me.

I'm running out of ways to try to kill her. She's amazingly tough; more resilient than linoleum and cockroaches. I've tried drugging her, strangling her, even tied her up in a garbage bag and watched the truck carry her off to the landfill.

Yet, here she is, back again, looking as fresh and innocent as a newborn babe.

How can someone so small have such a huge presence in my life? She's only a few inches tall, slender as a pencil, nearly as light as a feather. Oh yes, Cigarette is tiny but mighty...

But I will kill her.