Lady Euphoria

Thoughts of a "narcotic enthusiast"... (Work of fiction)

We sat in a mask of utter silence, trying to get a grip on that over-rated feeling of euphoria you'd expect after one...two...three bullets of mephadrone; while hanging on to that ever fading feeling of a joint that had been smoked 3 hours ago. 10 o'clock; a Sunday for fucksakes, and there we were, getting high off amphetamines in an empty shopping complex. Just like old times, I thought, shaking to the cold rhythm of winter's dying breeze in the midst of spring - or perhaps I was just suffering from the 'shakes'. "What are you thinking about?" I asked, watching my comrade in drugs suffer from that never lasting feeling of euphoria.

There wasn't much thought to it. People who either wanted drugs, were on drugs, or were out of drugs never thought much about the repercussions of staring at an empty bag of hollow joy. It was always the moment; that downer and the 'master plan' to find that sunshine in a bag. "Let's get another bag," the husky voice of Lady Euphoria loitering in our minds; the temptation for another fix, turning Man into Addict with the cunning use of white powder. How far one would go to experience the illusion of happiness varied, however, we managed to move past moral grounds and slowly ended up prisoners of escape. "Let's get another bag," the suggestion flying out one of our mouths after a couple of drug related innuendos. Yet again, we fell for Lady Euphoria's charm...