Junk food for fish, or; Fish food for junkies.

    she watches the fish. she stares out the window and shuts the blinds; wonders if fish would like blinds, for the advantage of shutting out the rest of the world whenever necessary. one day she took one out of the water to see how long it would last in the air; one minute and fifty-three seconds. that was the day she decided if she could choose her own death, it would be by drowning. irony is one thing she still enjoys.
    she lives with her dealer, who gives her drugs food and shelter in exchange for control over her. she'd learned how to give oral pleasure without gagging, sometimes she gets bruises inside her mouth. the first time she tried heroin he said he would do it for her, he forgot and her arm turned blue. unable to take off the belt stopping the blood flow to her arm she took a razor and tried cutting it off. he ran to her hearing her screams. she went to slap him and didn't mean to cut his cheek with the razor. he took off the belt and once the were both calmed down he started over again and stayed by her side. once the vein popped and the needle inserted she didn't have to wait long, she passed out within two minutes. woke up covered in vomit and liquid s**t down her legs. the first time she used heroin all the pain went away.
one of his clients own a pizzeria and brings pizzas and salad a couple times a week. another works at a grocery store and brings bags of food and drink. those clients get discounts. they grope her and talk dirty; he doesn't stop them.
    her family never made it back from a vacation three years ago. she had stayed home to work and save up some money for college and pot. she skipped out on college...found her way to the city instead. the last letter she received from them sits unopened at the bottom of a small suitcase which holds all her belongings. sometimes she dreams she's swimming across the seas to meet them. in the back of her head she's making a list of things to say if she were able to see them once more. so far she came up with "goodbye".
    i met her outside of the bagel shop. i had been working there for a month and it was my turn to quit...i was done serving my time. cigarette in hand i asked her for a light as an excuse to make small talk- maybe get to know her name. i told her mine was cal. she didn't say anything at first, just lit my cigarette and minded her business. eventually i invited her for coffee and acid. i had been sleeping on my older cousins couch for the past two years after dropping out of high school. she told me to call her jane. we spent ten hours being disciples of timothy leary and discovered the truth behind everything and elephants...all of which we lost on the way back. she used to talk to god but he left her for the devil. the devil lives on the south side of town and attends alcoholics anonymous meetings. she talked pretty. flowers grew from the floor as she explained right from wrong, fact from fiction. she put things into perspective and then said everything is a lie. nothing matters...the universe will explode in three minutes, but no one can tell time.
    sometimes i would stay at janes; she was great company. we would talk forever in what seemed much too short. her roommate made sure i knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if i touch her. some nights he wouldn't come home...he would say when. jane said he would bring other girls there sometimes and have his way with them. when he was gone for the night, sometimes nights at a time, we would do what we could- shoot up, talk, have some sex. one night he came home early; he stabbed me in the stomach and told me to give him twenty-five dollars. i had seventeen and gave him ten. luckily his knife was short and he didn't have very good aim; the blade was dull and he didn't puncture anything vital.

    i started sleeping there more and more...eventually finding myself a permanent stay. flies manifest the walls and rats ate whatever was on the floor; i think there were three or four of them...they mostly converged in the bathroom or the kitchen.[bong water in the fishbowl. hashish brownies for breakfast. dried blood squirts on the ceiling. sleep. eat. f**k. shoot up.] once after a coke binge, still on an adrenaline high, he pointed a gun at me. gun being cocked loaded and pressed against the side of my head there wasn't much i could do...my brain throbbed under the pressure. i was bent over...his free hand around my neck...i could barely breath. it felt like constipation...cigarette please- something- anything.
the roommate overdosed on speedball (mixture of cooked heroin and cocaine)...can sometimes cause a heart attack. we found him lying naked on the bathroom floor, dry sweat all over his body...puddle of puke...a rat was nibbling at his penis.
never noticed the wrinkles on his face- in his thirties but sure could pass for fifty.
liberation was in the hollows of his dark eyes.
we bring him out to the street; he'll just be a dead bum out there. Just another dead fish addicted to junk.
jane opens a window- let's in a cool breeze.
she gives me a hand job. when she does this she always starts low, tickling my ball sack sometimes lightly squeezing. then makes her way to the shaft. the whole process gives my stomach butterflies;
greatest gift i've received.
hAppy ending.
+++++++

Author's Note

some things should be changed

Reviews

[J. Swaney]

Dude please put this in the contest !

[J. Swaney]

Excellent read. It reminded me of a piece I wrote called the 8th day. I am considering publishing a compilation. I'll friend you and hope we can discuss it.

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