Memoir of a Butt: The Life of a Cigarette

Their anaconda don't want none unless you've got butts hun.

Illustration by Miguel Valarino and Jaso Bolay

Their anaconda don't want none unless you've got butts hun.

Jesse Johnson, Columnist

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Before reading this memoir, you may find yourself wondering what this will entail. This is my story, myself being a cigarette butt, about the life I’ve had the pleasure of living- the whole 4 hours of it. I’m writing this memoir as a way to provide you with an insight on what it’s like to start as a fresh cigarette and eventually burn out as a butt.

My day starts out normally as I sit with all of my other cigarette brethren in a home we call a ‘carton’. As the day progresses, my fellow cigarettes are taken out of the carton, never to be heard from again. I was the last one to be taken out of the carton, and as I was placed up to the lips of the person who purchased me, they sparked the flame, immediately making me warm in my torso as I farted smoke into their lungs.

As the minutes passed and I grew shorter and shorter between their fingertips, I began to fear the moment was coming soon: I would be tossed to the ground to die a lonely butt.

Sure enough, a few seconds later I didn’t have any more smoke to give, so I was thrown to the ground and stomped on. Did it hurt? You bet it did. I sat there for a good minute or two trying to wrap my head around what had happened because it came around so quickly. I knew that I had 3 hours until I finally burned out for good, so I decided to use those 3 hours as adventure time.

I felt a nice breeze that soon started pushing me towards the grassy plains, landing on some leaves when the wind finally let me down. I caught a glimpse of the setting sun, driving away the thoughts of my demise. After a while I drifted into a puddle, and I
thought to myself that if I’m lucky enough, I can dissolve into the water, which wouldn’t be a bad way to burn out. But I thought wrong; I had heard from another cigarette that due to a type of plastic in my filter, I would never be able to degrade in soil or in water.

As I conclude my journey through my life as a cigarette, I would like to thank everyone for reading these words I’ve thought up as a way to remember my short-lived life and to influence other cigarettes out there to use their time before burning out wisely and to expect anything and everything outside of the carton.

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