Smoke

He saw the patterns within the incense, and let it flow up. He would make wishes before the smoke, and even though they were mostly small tasks, they would be done. Like finding a lost pen; the smoke would weave its way to it and he would follow.

One day, after a hard day's work where he was scolded by his clients, he just wanted to rest at home. But his neighbours upstairs were arguing again. He was so angry he lit a joss stick and wished that they were dead. The smoke traveled up the ceiling, and soon after, everything went quiet. Hours later, an ambulance came, and he found out that his neighbours were dead. They had been asphyxiated. Their faces were bright red when they died, and the others in the apartment said they had died arguing, as they had lived.

The man was aghast, and surprised. That was the power of the smoke. Soon he wished it upon his stingy boss, or a difficult client. One day, he wanted to turn it upon his wife, but before he could reach the altar, he found the smoke weaving towards him. He saw his wife bent before it, praying, and with a sad smile. The man rushed over but it was too late, as the smoke made its way into him.