Work Text:
Siriol sat on the chair in front of the office, their legs dangling off it slightly as they looked around.
They had come to get a plaster, and were waiting for Sister Agnes to return with the medical supplies as the blood dripped from the cut on Siriol’s knee dripped slowly.
They had not often been to the office before, only if they’d got hurt and nobody had a plaster on them, or if there was something important to be said to them in person, which rarely happened seeing as they were neither a repeated troublemaker or a child that someone was interested in adopting.
At the entrance, there was a wooden chest of drawers, on which was a golden cigarette holder, which was about half filled with the cigarettes Sister Agnes usually smoked.
Siriol looked down to the floor.
One of the thin, long cigarettes had fallen to the floor and partially rolled under the piece of furniture the rack was placed on. Sister Agnes must have been uncareful when refilling her supply. They looked down the halls both ways, before sliding off the chair and picking the cigarette up off the floor and pocketing it, then they climbed back onto the chair.
It was not stealing if it was not in the package, Siriol was fairly sure. It’s only stealing if you go through someone's things and take them without permission.
Sister Agnes came in a moment later, and she disinfected and bandaged the wound for Siriol before ushering them back to outside in an attempt to make them play with other children, but mostly to get them out of her way.
Siriol scrambled through a bush and climbed behind the building, to a small, flat area against the wall that they’d found that other children didn’t know about or never bothered to go to, most of them being either larger than Siriol, or too young to be left unattended for long enough.
There was a loose grate at the wall of the building, which led to a small area that didn’t seem to be used for anything anymore, and that was not connected to the inside of the building. Inside was a box, the place where Siriol hid their things.
They pulled it out and rummaged around. The things inside were mostly things they’d found. A nail, two small coins, a stick shaped like a gun, a golden cross on a chain, a single arm of some doll- and three loose matches. Siriol had planned to just put the cigarette in the box with the other things, but they picked up one of the matches and rolled it around in their hand. What would they ever use them for anyway? It was not like Siriol was planning to commit arson, and if they were, the candles in the church would probably have been more effective than a small handful of different coloured matchsticks.
Sister Agnes smoked all the time, especially when she thought nobody was around, and most of the other sisters nicked her cigarettes every now and then, so why shouldn’t Siriol get to try?
Siriol put the cigarette onto the floor before turning around to face the rough stone wall with the match in their hand. The first match snapped in two, so Siriol pulled out another match, which they succeeded in lighting. They picked the cigarette up and lit it before blowing out the match.
They put the cigarette in their mouth before inhaling as hard as they could. Siriol immediately started coughing when the smoke entered their lungs.
They had to wait a moment as they coughed, and they felt a few tears rolling down their cheeks.
It burned. And it tasted bitter. Their mouth felt dry. Why would anyone do this? There must be a reason.
Siriol tried again, though they breathed in more slowly and carefully. It still burned a little, but it wasn’t as bad as before. They breathed out the smoke and watched it rise up and dissipate into the air above them. It looked nice. They felt a little light headed.
Siriol lay down in the grass and played with the still lit cigarette absentmindedly, before putting it in their mouth again, though they mostly chewed on it vaguely more than they actually inhaled the smoke. They felt a little sick, but in a relaxed way.
A few minutes passed before Siriol no longer saw the smoke rising above their head, and no longer managed to breathe in any more smoke. They rolled themselves up into an upright position, pushed the cigarette against the wall to make sure it was put out properly and then put it in their box along with the now used matchstick, which they replaced behind the grate.
Siriol stood up, walked a few steps away and then immediately vomited on the floor.
Maybe they’d do it again.