I’m startled awake confused as to where I am and where I
should be. I can feel the bang of the door as much as I think I can hear it.
“I’m going already. Give it a rest,” I shout but they don’t care. The
door rattles with every strike. Must mean something to bang this damn long. I
try to get up and at first it seems that I am having the hardest of times.
Everything seems out of place in my brain as I. There’s no other way to
describe what happens to me next. No way other than I rise up? A ghostly
outline of my former self. Neither here nor there or anywhere to be exact. I
watch over my lifeless shell. Who I used to be? Who I am now? Who I will be
forever? Confusion doesn’t even begin to explain the feelings of everything that
is happening. My door flies open. No more banging.
The first emergency responder to rush into my tiny studio
apartment seems as though he is caught between two places. Nervousness and
excitement flashes across his face in a slow motion that plays out in rapid
speed. His partner half a step behind him. Their heavy bags land with a thud
next to my bed, next to me. What is left of me? One of them picks up the phone
next to my vessel’s hand. Says a few words I can not fully hear or understand,
and hangs up the phone. The other searches for a pulse. Finding nothing of
course they begin chest compressions. The difference between life and this is
only a second but I imagine every second counts at this point. I imagine what
is left of my time counts for something when a life is on the line. Try as they
might the only fight left is the fight they aren’t willing to let go. I’ve made
my peace as I watch them try. As I watch the needle fall from my arm and onto
the floor. I’ve made my peace I think though it would seem that I haven’t. A by
stander to my own end and a shitty narrator to my new beginning.
If God is real he is nothing more than a trickster.
Proving a point that only the dead could understand. Even if everything feels
like a dream or a shitty nightmare played out in my head. Is this real? Is this
the high or something else? The two EMTs fight and fight to bring me back. I
wonder why I didn’t do the same. Why do they care so much when I didn’t? I want
to make them stop. Tell them thank you but I did this, and it is what I
deserve. We die, I died the end. What’s really left to say? A lifeless corpse
with shit in his veins. How else was this going to end? Is this the way I
wanted it? Sure why not? Had to happen at some point or another. Death waits
for no one or nothing. More so when you play with it like I have. This is what
I deserve and they don’t deserve to watch it all fold out. Embracing my new
beginning. Embracing what comes next it would appear that this was all only a
warning. A second look at what it is that I have done. Something draws me back
to my vessel. Tells me to lay back down. Not a thought or an idea the feeling
is beyond my understanding to explain. I do what it is I feel I must. Maybe if
I lie back down. Lay perfectly still the two parts will become whole once more?
Nothing to lose at this point. I try to recreate the position my shell is in on
What comes next is nothing short of a rebirth. The feeling of waking up after a long slumber as I spring back to life. Gasping for air and for the first time in what feels like forever I feel it. I feel it all. The tears flow down my face as I look into their eyes. Euphoric at first and then nothing but pain. Startled and relieved I grab the collar of the EMT closest to me, “Thank you.” Thank you is all I have to say. Thank you for what however we will just have to wait and see.
So two months in… some of you may have noticed that the “horror writer”… isn’t writing a writing a whole lot of horror stories… in some ways I am… but if you had this thought then you are correct… I’ve been experimenting as much as I can lately… stretching this idea of horror beyond serial killers and ghost… in truth the likeliness of any of us running into a serial killer or ghost is extremely low… statistically possible but very unlikely… the idea that we might die at any moment… some government agency or entity is changing the course of history… a broken heart snapped in half by our own hands… or in this case drug overdose… seem a little more likely… (Side note… I don’t believe in ghosts… but I don’t have any proof that they don’t exist…)
Any way… I’m sure I will sneak a crazy psychopath in here eventually… or maybe I already have?…
I feel as if I’ve seen this before. I feel as if I’ll hear this once more. Like a cold draft coming in, I’m blown out the door. My allergies take me places I’ve been before. Like the hallway and out the door. I think I wanted to just feel the norm of society and everyone before. Jumping up and down. Nowhere to go. Pushing from side to side. Nowhere to go. If this is my last life I wish there was more. If I had a choice I’d have wanted more. Well, when you look back do you see the fun? Or the hard work it took to win? By the end of life, I won’t remember what was what like a baby to the womb or an old man to his tomb. People keep asking me, “Where are you from?” People keep wondering where you’re from as if it matters because we’re all going to the same place. In the ground and back to the sun. Life keeps circling in a cycle that was spun a long time ago before we knew it was done. Jumping out of my skin. Fate has already begun to win. My minds going with my body and I’m stuck here with nowhere to go. My life’s gone way out of my control. I follow the lines as if I was told what to do, what to say, and in its own way my thoughts are not my own, but the people before me. My own self-loathing is a learned behavior. My society is large, but with many layers. People just make me want to jump, falling down hard my body rolls taking the hard way down into the ground.
Class sucked today and she still hasn’t texted me back. She’s a fucking whore. Fuck her. These drugs are fucking shit. Mother fucker sold me the wrong shit and of course, I have no choice but to keep using them because I have nothing else. Fuck off.
We’ve all been there… hopefully you haven’t personally… I know I am every other day… not the drugs… but at this point, I’m starting to think maybe I should be… just kidding kids… “Drugs are bad… Alcohol is bad”… venting your frustration through writing is the best way to clear your head… get that shit out before it gets out in negative ways… because as sure as you believe it won’t… it very much fucking will… take care of yourself and it will pay off… take a fucking moment and write that shit down… no idea why I am cussing so much… haha…
I’d vent my frustration on a shirt… but who the fuck has the time to read that shit?… that’s why I put it in book form… for when you have the time… Don’t forget to drop a review… I might even read them… when I’m done venting my frustration…
I begin my day by waking up like most of humanity, but in a hint of irony, I don’t think that I ever truly wake up. My first thoughts are to find some drugs, but I failed to get more last night or save any for this morning. So now I am beyond hopeless. I light up a cigarette and take a couple of drags before stumbling my way to the bathroom to piss. There is a huge bruise on my left inner thigh and I can’t recall how in the world I got it, but now that I know I have it my leg begins to hurt. I move to the kitchen and open the frig door more out of habit than anything else considering I already know that there isn’t anything inside it anyways. More thoughts creep into my head and this is why I should have saved at least one more hit. My second real thought of the day is that I have to work later. I already know hours in advance that I will be thirty minutes late, but I also know that they won’t say anything. In some sick sad way, they feel sorry for me or they act like they know something I don’t. Either way, this pisses me off beyond belief. I don’t say anything because I need the money now more than ever. I close the frig door and start to get ready for work. It’s not a long process so, I’m out the door before I even realize it. I send her a text that I know she will never respond to. I send her a text that says, “I love you and I miss you”, but it was a waste of twenty seconds. I start my car up and pull out of the parking space. I stop by the dealer’s house before heading to work. I barely had enough money to get what I will need for the next few days of my miserable life. I need to conserve as much as I can before I get paid again or things just might get worse. I laugh at the thought but it is more real than I can even comprehend right now. The drug dealer sends his best and this pisses me off. I could barely stop from doing a hit right on his front porch but I make it to the car. I head to work and today is already a waste.
Sixteen and fucking stupid. Sixteen year old girls pretending to be so stupid and dizzy about the dumbest things. As if a five-year old doesn’t understand how much something costs. How hard does one person have to be dropped on their head to not understand the concept of money in America? Yet this woman standing in front of me isn’t sixteen, though she acts like it, hell I don’t think she is even in her twenties anymore and if she is she looks fucking rough. Her and her rather large but not for this area boyfriend, who decided today wasn’t a good day to wear sleeves, stand in front of my register. There is a horrible smell coming from somewhere, but I’m not sure where. They have decided to purchase some beer, her pleasure condoms, and this week’s special two regular sized candy bars at the value price of a dollar. The slightly overweight woman who really doesn’t need one more candy bar asks me, “If the tag says two for a dollar does that mean I have to get two candy bars to get the sale price?” My mind flashes to the many possible answers I want to say to her stupid question like do you really need two or are you fucking retarded? Because if you are retarded that is fine, but if you’re just pretending, that’s fucking sad. I calmly tell the woman you can still get the sale price if you purchase just one as I hide my twitching hand from her view. And just so there is no confusion I tell her that they are fifty cents apiece. She gives me a look that makes me wonder maybe this isn’t an act. She really is slow in the head. She decides the best way to go is to get two. “They’re only a dollar,” she says with a giggle. Her next words will haunt me for as long as I live. “You got this don’t you Big Daddy?” I want to vomit all over her, and for the first time tonight it isn’t from the drugs. The man, known only as “Big Daddy,” steps up to the counter and reveals just exactly where the horrible smell in the air has been coming from. He is wearing a sleeveless shirt that says, “Taken Care of Businesses,” on it. His sleeveless arms are quite hairy and sweaty despite the fact that it can’t be more than forty degrees outside. His hairy arms release an odor so wretched that the smell is burning my raw nostrils. I have resorted to breathing through my mouth, as little as I possibly can. The sooner they leave the sooner I can breathe. I can feel my face getting redder as my blood starts to accumulate in my face making it feel even hotter in the room than it already is. I feel as though I am trapped under water. The couple begins to speak. I think they are telling a joke, but all I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my head, not the words coming out of their mouths. I don’t understand why they keep talking when I’m not saying anything back. I don’t understand what is going on. They are laughing and smiling, and the smell is somehow getting worse. It hurts, but I pretend to laugh anyways with them. I must pretend to be normal and that everything is okay. I must appear normal I chant to myself as my hand is still twitching and my leg has joined in. My mantra of normal is really starting to fuck me up. What is normal at a time like this? I hand the change to “Big Daddy” and the woman steps even closer to the counter, close to my face, closer than anyone should ever be, and she looks me right in the eyes. She says, “The secret is to have lots of sex.” I swallow the vomit that has found its way into my mouth and force a smile. I have no idea why she is telling me this, but I am grateful that they at least bought condoms. Now if they understand how to use them is a whole other question. My guess is that reading is difficult at their level of intelligence so probably not. It is another sad day on planet earth.