You are my creator, but I am your master…

(“Frankenstein” by Mary Shelley)

Serge angrily crumbled the smoking cigarette butt onto the tea plate (he had thrown away all ashtrays long ago). One more attempt to quit smoking failed … Just a few minutes ago the image of a smoking cigarette and the acute sensation of a puff seemed to be so attractive that he again could not resist and shamefacedly went around to ask his neighbors for a cigarette. He deliberately did not go to the kiosk to buy a whole pack. Such amount would not be needed. This cigarette was supposed to be just one more and, this time, certainly the last, the very last one. Now, when the craving for nicotine was satisfied, the charm of a blue haze in his mind was again replaced by depression, arising from the realization that he was simply incapable of quitting. Serge knew that the neighbors were already sneering at him. Truck driver Basil from the fifth floor this time did not give him a smoke at all. He said that he allegedly did not have it, although, Serge knew for sure, he always had. Only old retired Maxim from the first floor helped him out. Perhaps, it would be better even if he also refused! The smoked cigarette canceled out a week of abstinence torment and broke the remaining willpower into pieces. Serge felt that this cigarette would not be the last again. In frustration, he stared at the television. The program was about the ancient pagan gods of the Maya. It was already finishing, but Serge noticed that those gods were constantly smoking. And one of them had a smoking cigar sticking out right from his