Fortuitous (adjective): happening by chance or accident

It smelled orange.

Not the joyful color of sunlight on an autumn day, spilling over the reds and yellows and browns littering the ground. Not the vibrant hue of marigolds that bloomed in the gardens of an elementary school. Not the happy orange.

It was like poison, like death. The dark orange of a life that passed away too soon, of its rotting body silently returning to earth.

The boy smiled awkwardly at his friends. Then accepted the source of that sad, pungent scent of orange—a small piece of paper rolled with strange herbs.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

He knew about cigarettes. How dangerous they were. How his uncle stumbled around with a blank look on his face, draining his life’s fortune for more of the mind-numbing drug, ever hungry and greedy for another stick.

A flame flickered. More orange flooded the air.

He knew, but he was not like his uncle. There was no staggering debt riding on his back, no furious wife, no weeping child. The boy wasn’t seeking temporary relief in his life. It was an accident—he didn’t mean to stumble into the popular crowd and he didn’t ask for the smoke to be pressed into his hand.

He had self-control, and it was just one, anyway.

The papery feeling of the cigarette gradually became warm in his hand, and the boy put his lips to its end, relishing in the scent of orange.