Melissa Rose Boisclair

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything but a short story on my small slice of the internet here. I think I was too hung up on the views I once had and the way I once spoke. I don’t know if I can write about these things with the hopeful elegance I once used. Maybe I’m not supposed to. I’m trying to be more honest with people, but it makes it difficult to tell if that honesty is holding me in places I wish to walk away from or if it’s doing what I intended – giving me the strength to be who I think I am (who I want to be) instead being caged inside the person I’ve shown them all. A long time ago I wrote about life and the passing years in a bleak way. I said that we all live with our backs to a wall that’s steadily moving toward the edge of a cliff. When we’re kids that cliff is nothing but rumor and the kind of fairy tales meant to scare us. We can’t see it after all, but time passes and eventually, there it is. Once you see it, it only seems to be rushing at you. So many peopl

I want to make a few things clear before I post this work. One: This story deals with a very sad and very real problem that many people face so read with caution. (Also, lots of cursing) Two: This is a work that’s been very important to me since I wrote it some months ago. I know I’m supposed to be writing new content, (it’s kind of the point of the challenge) but I’ve been having a bit of a slump writing lately and if I stop now I’m afraid I won’t pick it up again. Three: ( and probably most importantly,) While the main character of this story was in the system, I by no means want people to believe that everyone in social services turns out the way he does. Many go on to do great things and live perfectly stable lives.) That all being said, I present to you, Flowers for Cigarettes. A story about moving on from the all the regrets in the past that we all to often carry into our futures.   FLowers for Cigarettes The past’s gotta a way of creepin’ up o