Dropping Out, Drugs and Other Stuff

For my creative writing class, I was told to write a story with a perspective completely opposite of mine. So I chose to write about a high school drop out addicted to heroin.

It was morning, I think. Mom stopped waking me up for school a while ago, although it’s understandable of course. I look around my messy room, clothes all over my floor, papers and mail stacked on my desk that I promised myself I’d go through for the past month. I turn onto my other side in bed, facing the window where the sun was shining in. It has to be late afternoon, but in my world that doesn't even matter.

            I reach for my phone and punch in the code. Three missed calls, and two texts flash up on the screen. The first text reads “where r u i need you?” I sure don’t need you, I think to myself. The second message I prefer, “hey man, u up 2 hang?” I think I will hang out with you, friend.

            Grunting, I get up. I step around the miscellaneous junk on my floor. It’s cold in my room in just boxers, so I grab a towel and a fresh pair of underwear and dart into the bathroom. In the shower I ponder the typical things, but today I feel slightly different. I remember high school and the people I knew, I almost miss it. I shut off the water and grab my towel.

            I lay in bed, waiting for a call back. This is what my life has been for months now. Laying. I don’t have sober thoughts anymore, I wait for the call and I go. Today’s call comes, and I go, this time to the railroad station down the road. I put on my black hoodie and walk out into the dusk. Mom doesn’t even ask where I’m going anymore. With my hood pulled up and my hands in the pouch, I walk to the station. I can see it in the distance, a once beautiful structure falling to pieces, with people like me inside it. The state of the building is a good representation of what has happened to my life.

            I pull the mutilated door off its hinges, just like many other times and enter the dilapidated building. I see a small fire over in the corner office, and head over. I hear the clicks of lighters, and the moans of pure ecstasy from the high. I join in quickly with “Where’s mine?” I feel like that’s the only utterance my mouth can produce anymore.

            Within seconds of that simple phrase, I flash back to better times, happier times you could even say. I feel like I’ve woken up again and I remember school. I never really fit in with anyone before her. Her name is Kathleen, or as we know her, Katie. I remember when I first laid eyes on her on that dreary day in September. The gorgeous brown locks of hers blew in the breeze from the windows in the back of the classroom. Even on a rainy day like that her skin seemed to gleam like gold.

            It took just a week for us to start hanging out every day after school. Neither of us were the best of students, but we managed. Our favorite place to hang out was in the small park halfway between either of our houses. I remember staring out at the small pond and seeing our reflections smile back at us, the fresh air and the birds chirping. Both of us were lost in the moments that we were together.

We met a group of three here once, a girl and two guys. They offered us a good time, and how could any teenager pass that up. I wish I would have. My mind has become a mush, I can only mutter a few phrases and all I think about the next hit. Click. Flame. Circle the spoon. Pull the plunger. Tie my arm. Find some vein that hasn’t been ruined yet. Feel. Forget.

            Katie has become the same way. We left school, not only because we stopped caring, but we didn’t even have the thought to go. Our parents tried to help, but there was nothing they could do. We were fighting our own battles, but the only moment of “clarity” we experienced was after each hit. In those moments, all we could see was each other. Sometimes, we’d manage to make it home, but other times we’d be gone for days. At least once I’ve called my poor mother, and given her nearly a heart attack in the night telling her we’re dying.

            As a single mother, she doesn’t deserve what I’ve put her through. She doesn’t deserve a lot that she’s been through. My father left a while back, and the hardships we’ve been through are first things I forget when I take that hit. When I lay alone in bed, I remember all those times. The texts from friends are my out. As much as I wish for it to stop so that I can finally move on with my life, I can’t. I don’t have the ability to think that straight though. I’m trapped in my thoughts, and my addiction.

            Katie and I are prisoners in our own bodies.

 

To be continued…

Author's Note

Any critiques are welcome. I like how this story is going but I'm a novice writer. I have to do a ~16 page paper and I feel like this could be it, I just don't know how to write something longer than three or so pages.

Reviews

[tyson]

really well written, brother! very honest, without being pretentious, hard skill to master. Keep it up