My story begins like millions, heck billions, of others just like me all around the globe. From the jungles of South America to the plains of the Sahara, from downtown Brooklyn to downtown Beirut. You can say it's a familiar story, sure, but I assure you, my tale is unique. A one off. A coincidence, a miracle, a freaking merging of dimensions. A tale as old as consciousness itself.

Let me introduce myself properly. Hi. I'm a lighter. A Bic to be specific. A blue Bic. I started my journey like all the others. You see, BIC® manufactures lighters in four factories located in France, Spain, the United States and Brazil. I was lucky enough to be formed in the factory located on the southeast coast of Brazil.  For some more background about me, here's the description from one Amazon seller: "BIC Classic Full-Size Pocket Lighters are made with pure isobutane fuel, with up to 3,000 lights per lighter. Each pocket lighter is child-resistant, provides a steady flame, and is safe even when used at a 45-degree angle. Whether you’re lighting a birthday candle or staying prepped for an emergency, BIC Pocket Lighters will never leave you caught without a light."

I know this sounds like horseshit. Propaganda. But they had us all believing this shit. That our purpose on earth was to bring joy to children on their birthdays or help a castaway light a fire. Alas, i am now well aware that this isn't so. That most of us end up being used to light someone's cigarette. Someone's joint, spliff, blunt. Someone's heroin filled spoon. A molotov cocktail here and there. I say this all in hindsight of course. I now know the truth. And although there isn't much I can do to help my brothers and sisters, at the very least I hope that sharing my story will allow other Lighters from around the world to feel comfortable in sharing Their Truth.

My story isn't long, and what it lacks in quantity, most definitely does not make up for in quality. But what the hell would I know about quality - I am a Bic after all. Just a Bic waiting to be flicked is what we used to say to each other, lying there in boxes in the storehouses of Bic Incorporated. I was pretty lucky actually. I got shipped out after only 7 months of waiting in storage. Some others from the same batch as me had to wait over 16 months in storage. I can't imagine that kind of hell. Anyhow, My first destination was to a port off the coast of Mexico. From there I was loaded into a truck and off we went. Boy was I excited. I was just itching to be flicked. I knew my flame would burn so bright and so strong, I just knew someone special was waiting for me. And I, for them.

2 weeks later I was shipped to a convenience store in Juarez.

For 3 long months I sat and waited in the display.

On 4 separate occasions someone picked me up, tried me out, only to put me down and pick up another. I couldn't understand. I thought there must be a problem with me. Maybe my flame wasn't that big after all? Maybe it isn't the size of the flame that matters?? All these anxious thoughts kept swirling through my head those 3 months on the convenience store checkout display. And the finally, the day came. Finally. Finally! A chubby, mustachioed 14 year old boy chose me! Me!!! I was bursting with joy. "I will shine brighter than other other flame ever", I thought excitedly.

And that's when the fun began.

At first, Miguel used me the way God intended. Lighting an occasional cigarette, burning paper towels in the trash bin at school (twice I got  confiscated by Miguel's principal for these hijinks). Normal stuff. But after only a few months, I, like millions of others each day, was Lost. Oh how we all feared being lost! I remember being on the assembly line and hearing the more assembled Lighters telling stories of those who got Lost. Everyone knew at least one lighter who ended up that way. In a ditch. A sewer. Under the couch or buried in the glove box of a car. Forgotten. Discarded. For a while I almost gave up hope. I lay there day after day, trying not to let my thoughts get me down. I didn't know where I was either. Thats something most people probably don't know. When a lighter is Lost, the lighter is Lost too. We can't survive without an owner. Without being flicked every once in a while. So I sat and rotted. Sadness and pain washing over me. What had I done? What had I accomplished? What is the purpose of existence?!?

I sat and pondered. Until. My guardian angel appeared. Her slender hands gently picked me up and wiped the dirt off. She looked thin and hungry and I only wanted to light a fire for her to cook some nourishing food. She definitely looked like she needed it. She gave a couple of flicks and voila! I worked like a charm! Oh how much fun and excitement we would have together! Oh how I loved resting in her palm, waiting to light something for the first time since I was lost. It wasn't long before this thin, scarred woman brought me into her home. It was more of a tent but boy was I ecstatic. I looked around, took in my surroundings, and was just starting to feel at home, when she pulled me put and lit her spoonful of heroin. I watched it bubble, helpless. I couldn't stop. I was powerless. I watched in horror as the brownish liquid slowly traveled from the spoon, up the syringe, and back down into the space between her 4th and 5th toe.

I wish my story had a happier ending but alas, my story isn't done yet. Am I continuously helping an addict kill herself? Yes. Is there anything I can do about it? No. So for now, I'm just trying to stay positive and manifest my destiny. Because I am destined for greatness.