The Brown Syringe

...I was bored... Finished reading a book on different drugs and this is what was produced. Enjoy

I gripped the gun tighter and held it pointing at the door.

“Shut up!” I yelled at the voices as I released six shots on the door. But the voices still came through the door haunting me with laughter and threats of killing me.

I gripped the trigger tighter, as the now empty syringe punctured deeper into my arm, ripping the skin as I unloaded another half dozen rounds into the door.

This episode was defiantly worse than the one I had experienced last night. The gnomish men were behind the door of this small closet, or my haven if you will, instead of outside my house. The voices of naked gnomish men in hats, floated under the door and into my ears.

“We’re going to get you one day! We swear by it.”

“Yeah you can’t hide in that filthy closet forever!”

“Stop! Shut the F**K UP!” I dropped the gun as I brought my hands up to clasp them over my ears.  I held my hands over my ears tighter.

This psychotic episode was defiantly worse than the last.

 

Sunlight? Blinding light...? Why was it so bright? My closet wasn't bright; it was dark and dingy, filled with used syringes and burnt spoons... There were blood stains on the walls... There was no bright light in my safe haven...

Why was I being lifted off the ground? Had the gnomish men finally broke through the door and where now carrying me away? I tried to open my eyes but I couldn’t, it felt like my eyes were glued shut.

“Whoa! Hey, Mayson, relax.”

OH S**T! The voices were back. I didn’t know these gnomish people were so strong. I instantly began to squirm and flail my arms.

“Put me down! Put me down right NOW!” I yelled as I continued to thrash like a fish caught in a net.

“Mayson, relax.” There was the voice again. What was happening? Why couldn’t I see? Why did it feel like my arm was on fire?

I was tossed to the ground and something heavy was put on my chest. I tried to open my eyes again. This time it worked and I waited for my eyes to adjust and for the picture to become clear.

“Hey Mayson!”

“F**k Thane, you scared the s**t outta me!”

“Your welcome,” he smiled and stood up.

“How’d you get in?” I asked as I lifted myself into a sitting position.

“The door was unlocked so I let myself in,” Thane nodded towards the front door and went into the kitchen.

“Oh…” How could I have done such a stupid thing as leave the door unlocked? I threw myself onto the black leather couch and stared out the window to make sure there were no gnomes in hats.

“Mason, may I ask you a question?” Thane asked as he sat on the couch beside me and handed me a glass of water.

“I guess…”

Thane played with his glass of water before setting it down on the coffee table. He turned to face me, “Mayson, have you started again?”

I stared at him, “that’s a pretty vague question…” I placed the glass beside the one Thane put down moments ago.

“Like…I mean, are you using again?” Thane made a weird gesture to his arm.

I tilted my head, “Thane that’s a pretty vague question, using deodorant, a toothbrush using what?”

“Cocaine, Mace.”

I watched as Thane’s emotions were clear as day on his face, sadness, rage, concern. He looked like he was ready to cry.

“I’m sorry Mayson, I didn’t mean to yell…I just…”

I stood and stretched, “well what’s it to ya anyway?”

“Mayson! I’m your best friend!” Thane stood and took hold of my shoulder, “you’ve been clean for six months.”

“So? I can stop when I want.” I walked past my bed towards my closet.

“We both know that’s not true,” Thane followed, “is it because of your parents divorce?”

I stopped and spun on my heel, “Thane my father was never home, I NEVER liked him anyway! He was an abusive drunk a*****e!”

“Mayson, please! Just talk to me, I want to help,” Thane grabbed my wrist.

I could see the tears start to fill his green eyes, even though he wanted to help, we both knew there was nothing he could do.

I watched as the wind from my open window blew Thane’s dark brown hair and I felt my own hair being tousled.

Thane reached a hand up and fixed my hair, “please, Mayson let me help you.”

Now I thought I was going to start to cry.

“You want to help?” I asked and Thane nodded, “then don’t! I don’t need your help. I can quit when I want. Besides it was just one fix!

I pulled my wrist out of Thane’s grasp and took a step back.

Thane’s brows furrowed together and the water that had built up in his eyes poured down his cheeks, “you know what Mayson? I wanted to help you because I’m your friend and that’s what friends do, help!”

“Thane chill�"“

“No! I’m not done yet, if your dealing with those inner demons of yours go right ahead. But don’t expect me to stand by and watch my best friend die!” he grabbed a handful of my black dyed hair and held it.

“You idolize people who went down the same road you’re going down right now! They’ve put books out about their addictions so people wouldn’t do the same thing!” he tossed me to the ground and sat on top of my abdomen again. “You’re doing exactly the opposite of what they intended! I’m sure your grandmother is ashamed of you! You crappy Nikki Sixx wannabe!”

I stared at Thane with wide eyes, his face bright red. I watch as a single tear ran down his cheek.

“Get out,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“GET OUT!” I yelled as I pushed him off me. “How dare you say my grandmother is ashamed of me! Get the f**k out of my house!”

Thane stood and dusted himself off, “don’t expect me to bail you out when you get your self into s**t,” Thane walked to the door and slammed it on his way out.

I sank back down to the floor my face in my hands. Thane was right, I was pathetic. I looked at the open window though my tear filled eyes. I grabbed the hem if my Iron Maiden t-shirt and wiped my eyes with it.

I stood and walked to my closet. The closet was filled with at least six dozen needles, used and not. There were blood streaks on the walls, and wax from the candles I’d burn to add light to the closet. And of course my gun.

I bent down and picked up a dirty used syringe and then picked up the razorblade I had forgot was in the closet… it had to have been from when I use to snort the cocaine instead of injecting it with heroin. I walked into the closet and sat in the corner with my journal on my lap. I held the old, rusty, wax covered razorblade to the under side of my wrist. My hand began to shake but I slid the piece of metal across the white underbelly of my wrist. The blood quickly filled the cut, pooled and created a long red river down my arm as I did it again and again until my entire wrist was crying out in pain.

 

It was midnight, maybe, who knew in this small closet with no windows, clocks or anyway of knowing what time it was. All I knew, by the blood markings on the wall that it was my sixth straight day freebasing my cocaine and shooting heroin. I was locked in the closet, with blood smeared across my face, almost looking like tribal paint, with my gun resting my lap. I filled the blood covered syringe with the cocaine I had melted.

I looked at the syringe and then at my arms. Most of my veins were covered with scars from when I had decided it would be cool to cut pathways down my arms.

I decided I’d go with the untouched veins on my hands. I punctured the skin on my right hand, since I was left handed, and shoot the liquefied coke into my body. Instantly the world felt like home again and I stood up to grab another candle from the top self of the closet and as I stood the world decided to spin and I feel to the ground and blacked out.