Wrong Prescription

Place: A random bathroom in some random building

Time: Some random time at night

It felt like my nostrils were burning. It was excruciating. It wasn't the pleasant campfire warmth, more of a napalm scalding pain that seem to eat away at my flesh. It didn't help that I could feel the burning sensation creep down to my throat and spread through my lungs like raging wild fire. I flinched so hard, I almost bit my tongue off. Good thing I didn't....

It seemed like moments ago when I felt chilled to the bone. My sweat dribbling down my face, cold sweat. Imaginary sweat. No way I could sweat and be so cold in the same time. But somehow I did. My hands were shaking like a Parkinson inflicted madman, I clumsily took out a long green cylinder. Its shape a surface, slick and smooth. Nothing like my state of mind. I struggle to grasp and twist it open. A wisp of my own definition of heaven filled the air in the room....

"You should lay off that thing", Mash's stern voice seemed to echo in my head. "Prolong use will kill you". I've gone through a whole lot of shit, I doubt anything like a shot would kill me. "Yeah, yeah, I'll tone it down alright, just get of my back OK", the usual rebuttal, followed by the turn, and the walk. "Please, just listen to me....". Couldn't really hear her jabbering. I was already half way through the door. "I don't want you to turn in to a.... ". Bam! the slam of the door muffled the last remaining words.

Did I mentioned that it burned? So much that I felt like pulling out my lungs and dipping them in ice water. Not that a bucket of ice water would be easy to come by, nor are a pair of detachable lungs as a matter of fact....

Viktroll was a mans best friend. Easy to come by, strong on effect and cheaper than the other shit you find on the streets. Side effects might vary. Dried throat, oral irritation, double vision, slight spinal discomfort, depression, aggression, irregular heart beat, massive hallucination, hyper-tension, psychotic/suicidal tendencies and of course my favorite, an extreme high like no other. Impatient, I wedge the cylinder up my nose (I thought I heard a 'click' when I did), and inhaled. Like a weak breeze, the effects felt unsatisfactory. I inhaled deeper. Nothing. Deeper. Nothing. Deeper.... then suddenly it came like a gust of wind. A tsunami of pleasure. It was as though all my senses lit up and exploded. And explosions are never good....

Searing. How about we refer it as searing? Let's go with searing. It's a much more suitable word to express the unexplainable pain. Searing of the flesh. I could swear I could smell my own lungs sizzle. I topple, my own body convulses over the pain. My head knocks on the floor. I see blood. But I don't notice the pain. How could you feel pain with so much searing? The blood trickles and pours....

Call somebody. Anybody. Help. I need help. My brain's last call of desperation. My hands scramble for my mobile. It obeying my will was a pleasant surprise. My fingers fiddle the buttons, my vision doing a bad job of assisting, hazy as mist. My head feels fuzzy. No, not the warm kind. The soapy kind with bubbles flowing out of my ears. I press the call button, drag my arm closer to my ear. And hope....

"Geeeee..... I'm so sorry. The Juice isn't here right now. hihihi. Probably doing something like shopping, or chitty chattering or maybe doing my hair or my nails or both. Busy busy busy. Either way, call back ya... chowwww"

I cough out blood while spurting out a gurgling laugh. Just my luck. My sister. Last thing I'll hear is her giggling. Blood and saliva ooze out of the spaces between my teeth and the corners of my smile. The cylinder clasp tightly in my hand. Even in near death, my body does not want to let go. Things start to get dark. I lose all consciousness, all feeling. Except the damn searing. It burns. Mash's word kept ringing in my head over and over again. "Junkie".

Blogging off....