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DonnieDanko

this piece was written for my english folio piece in the final year of high school

The Addict

"In a mad world only the mad are sane."

- Akira Kurosawa

The body lay there, trapped, like a figure embedded beneath layers of ice. John was shivering, cold, almost frozen. All that he could focus on was the unbearable pain that was raging through every inch of his body. He was tightly strapped to the bed, the leather straps around his arms and legs denying his attempt for bodily movement. The young man’s face was so pale that it almost matched the ghost-white spreadsheet of the bed. Having just woken from his sleep, John lay staring at the ceiling. His head was throbbing with the vivid mental scars of the time when he lived day-by-day, ‘surviving’ from one hit to the next. John was only fifteen when he was peer-pressured into trying what was known then as ‘smack’, more commonly known now as ‘off topic drug’. He didn’t realise then, at that point in time, at that party, on that day, in that hour, that he would stop living on earth and fall into the recesses of hell. Before he could pause and take stock of his situation, John started to commit serious offences in order to fund his addiction. His family could not grasp the fact that their son, an A grade student with close friends, had become acquainted with the devil’s advocate. Questions started to race through the family’s mind: “What have we done?”, “Is it our fault?”, “Have we been putting too much pressure on him?” The reality, however, was that the problem’s roots were firmly planted in John.

Suddenly John broke out in patches of sweat. His fingers were trembling, struggling to break free of his captivity. Tears rushed down his thin, boney cheeks and his heart was beating rapidly. He couldn’t handle the disturbing thoughts that were pacing through his mind; he couldn’t see himself spending his life lying in the institution waiting for something to click into place. John engaged countless thoughts of his situation. Eventually, he decided to leave the rehabilitation centre upon which he would once again join the very society that had abused him once before. Once out, John saw that society’s attitudes were still the same stereotypical ones as always. People in the community of all ages, races and cultures saw John as the messenger from hell. John frequently asked himself why he lived in such a hostile environment. Was it that hard for the community to lend a helping hand and listen? No. They simply blocked their ears and left him in his position and whether he died or not did not matter to them. This was the situation as he walked the streets. The temptation to buy ‘off topic drug’ was irresistible and as always he found a dealer and, with the few dollars left in his bank account, he bought his ‘off topic drug’. The street corner on which he bought his drugs was cracked and crumbling, just like John’s life. The small foil wrapped package contained the one substance that would give John the energy to continue living. John needed a syringe and found it in the rubbish bins near a big dumpster. He didn’t care what they had been used for; what was a little bit of someone else’s blood to him?

All types of people from the community stared at John. They knew what was going on, yet no one said anything; he was the untouchable of the town. He found a quiet alleyway and sat down against the hard brick wall, John noticed an old alarm clock about a metre away from him. Carefully opening the foil packet and smelling the white substance with relief, he slowly placed the powder in the syringe and automatically slid the thin metal bar into his thin hungry skin. It was the last time he would feel manufactured joy. As he injected the ‘off topic drug’ into his precious blood, he sat there with the ticking of the alarm clock counting down his last minutes on earth.

 

Proline63

thats really good

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Hey, you remember that time when... Oh. No, probably not- you were passed out.