Just another day by Priyank Bhavsar
In the north-east of the metropolis stood a gigantic building of that multinational company. On the 45th floor was the office of the executive. The young man sat on the chair with hands stretched to the table, writing something. He finished writing in a few minutes.
He kept the pen aside, threw himself back on the chair before taking a deep breath. He got up, slowly and calmly he went towards the cupboard door. On the lower hand was a drawer, it had a small revolver in it and it also had a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He placed the cigar in his mouth and lifted his hand to light the cigar and lighted it. Then he went out of the office and moved towards a room that was newly made.
He went towards the room and walked through a large hall with cigar and lighter in his his hand. The staff looked at him and his cigarettes. He opened the door of the newly made room as the staff took a sigh of relief as he was approaching towards private smoking. All smokers now used that room.
As soon as the door was opened, lights went on and ventilation system began to run. In the center of the room was a Chinese sofa. He sat on it smoking restlessly. Smoke whirled in his body and then out of his mouth swirled up in the air. He kept on smoking. After some time he started feeling weak. He started feeling dizzy. Cigar fell from his hand. He thrust his body on the sofa to relieve himself of the excessive pain he was feeling. He felt a little pain in his heart, suddenly he got an ache. His eyes closed and he was no more. Smoking killed him.