Human life is the most peculiar of things. Every decision made is one more turn down a dark corridor into the descent of death, and no matter which choices are made, we all will meet the same fate. The inevitability of eventually being gone- to disappear from this world completely- is the only sliver of truth in a harsh existence of uncertainty.
And to cope in a world reeking of impending doom, unfair judgment, and constant disappointment- I find my inner peace through the substances of the chemical world.
So here I am- all alone. A dim lamp shines its light from the corner of the room, casting shadows onto the pale off-white walls which are plastered with an assortment of posters- each depicting a variety of pop culture. The television is on, but nothing is playing; just an eery blue light emanating from its screen, and a subtle hum being transmitted into the air. The linoleum tiled floor- gathering dust from neglect- has an assortment of clothes scattered across the surface, collecting dirt from the days gone unwashed and forgotten. The bed is unmade, the sheets in a messy pile at the end of the mattress- which itself is covered in aging, yperson’sd stains and cigarette burns. If one were to listen closely, they would be able to hear the soft classical music playing subtly in the background- Beethoven’s beautiful “Moonlight Sonata” being the current track.
And, in the back corner of the room-hidden away as if in shame and disgust- is a wooden table whose surface is scratched and tarnished with the obvious signs of age and mistreatment.
This is where I reside. A dim look of apathetic excitement is upon my face in the form of a barely visible smile as I stare at the small pile of glistening, snow white powder in front of me.
My true escape. My purest joy.
The one thing that, for a brief and fleeting moment, takes me out of the dismally dark corridor of the average life, and instead pulls me to the side- bringing me to a room off course of the journey; into a room of peace, content, and euphoria.
In front of me are my tools of the trade- the everyday utensils I utilize in such an illicit manner. Simple household objects, laid out in an orderly fashion, were what aided me in my endless quest of hedonistic self destruction. Among these items were: a new razor blade- sleek, with a lustrous sheen of youth; a dinner plate- marked up and chipped from constant use; a gray Bic lighter- nearly empty of fluid, the bottom of it covered in a light dusting of the same powdered crystals. And, finally, a lone dollar bill- a bored looking George Washington blankly starting up at me.
If only our first president could see what people were like in the modern day- undoubtedly, he is scowling in his grave with disgusted contempt at the very nature of the average person’s gluttony.
Ritualistically, I grab the razor blade, carefully cutting up the crystalline powder into straight and even lines. I am meticulous, the process of preparing the substance being nearly as important as actually doing it. It was routine- something small and pointless to most that, in a magnificently morbid way, helps bring me to a place of serenity- a quiet, zen state where I’m at complete peace with the universe around me.
There’s a rapid fluttering in my chest; an intense yearning felt throughout my body. One can’t help but get excited for the long awaited moment that was so rightfully deserved- so patiently waited for. Just the thought alone is enough to send chills of pleasure and anticipation through the entirety of my being.
But the air is still. My hands arranging the lines the only movement present- a peaceful aura enveloping the entire room with a soothing omnipresence- a serene quiet only felt when one is truly alone; a lovely and perfect place in their own little world.
The dollar bill is neatly rolled into a tight tube, Mr. Washington hidden away on the inside, undeserving to witness such an act of hedonistic pleasure. I put one end to my nose- carefully tucked away on the edge of my nostril- and the other to the start of a line. Sharply, I inhale, drawing the powder into my nasal cavity in one fluid motion. It burns so amazingly- my left eye starts to water slightly, and I utterly adore every aching moment.
One down, two left. I repeat the process again, and then once more. The ceramic dinner plate cleaned off completely- I lay back in my chair to give the glorious substance time to work it’s magic upon me.
My ritualistic performance was at an end- the onset of the drug coming on quickly; I was launched forward with unbelievable intensity- speeding full force off into hyperspace.
My heart was beating at a quick and steady pace; my breath came in quick bursts as an overwhelming high of euphoric waves rushed through my body at a constant rate. It was enough to knock the wind out of your lungs- to leave one breathless in a state of ecstasy.
This is what I lived for- the rush of the high; the need for speed and excitement; a craving for the wonderfully taboo.
And, just like that, I was to spend the next several hours in that cozy side room, just off course from that dreadful depressing walk towards the very bitter end of death.
And now, with a foolish idea of it never ending, I enjoy my existence just a little more.
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