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A music-breathing youth whose frustrated with the chains of addiction, and his journey |
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He turned on the shower, it was hot. The shower always burned him, the water was always too hot. In a way he liked it that way. The searing pain, the water splashing over his chest in smoky spirals. There was always that smell of warmth, the smell accompanying scalding water. It was a beautiful smell to him, for in a way, he felt he deserved it after all these years. In the shower he closed his eyes, letting water drip from his hair, letting them each drop to their own splashy death. Music played in the background, he had lived music and breathed it for so long, that he was afraid of silence. It was a growing fear like all of his others, and for years they danced in his mind singing of torment, how ironic that they brought silence. For so long now, he had been afraid to die and yet he had done so many terrible things. Who was he? Why did he do these things? He turned off the scalding shower and dried off. He put on a green shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was a short brown, but in the middle was a long strand falling past his eyes, the remains of a mohawk. The strand was dyed green as well as the whole middle of his hair, in one long green streak. His eyes were a liquidy black, they looked unstable, as if they could come part at the slighest of breezes. His cheeks were hollow, and his body was lanky and weakened from years of abuse. He walked out of the shower, he sat on a couch that was starting to mold. On his table, looking back up at him like long lost friends, lines of cocaine begging for use. His black, watery eyes shook looking at them, how he hated and love his little friends, those little white dots. How he hated and love them. If only the water could burn away his sins. If only the water could purge him like a righteous fire. He sighed, "I've gone so far down," Picking up a nearby straw, he put one end in his nose and the other on the table. With one great snort and he dashed the straw across a line of coke, he could feel it already, wrapping around his brain in a lover's embrace. The effect wouldn't be much, he did it just to stay alive for the most part now. He had heard too many stories of withdrawl to quit. A phone call, a ringing salvation, was heard and he quickly got up. His body was a wreck and it was a fight just to move, his legs felt like jello, and in the shadows of his damp studio, he thought he could see spiders moving everywhere. He shrugged and picked up the phone, a woman's voice came through, "Hey Dim, how's it going?" Dim, it was short for Dimitri, "It's going okay Becca, you?" "I got a lip piercing," She replied, he could envision the smile on her pale complexion of a face. "Hot," He said. "So what's up tonight? Is it monday yet?" "Dimitri, you kidding?" She laughed. "It's saturday. You asked me that question yesterday." "Where does the time go," He smiled. "So what's up for the night or rather day. I kind of want to get out of here." He looked around, and in one corner he thought he saw a million little spiders, colored the beautiful color of crack. All looking at him with lips that begged to meet, temptation rose in him to finish the other two lines on his table. He resisted. Take me away, Becca, God please take me away from this. "Well, we were thinking about hanging out at Yester," She said. "You want to come?" Dimitri sighed, "Yeah, that sounds fine. I'll walk down to Ryan's house, so, guess just pick me up there?" "Sounds good to me," Becca said. They said their farewells, and right when they hanged up, Dimitri walked back to his table and snorted two more lines. They did nothing for him. Just a satisfaction to be content, just a feeling of living another day, one day at a time. Yet each new day, fell apart worse then the last. It was like he sat upon a glass mirror, and each day the shattered mirror let him ride another chunk of broken glass, down and down till the spiraling black consumed all the pieces. He sat on the couch and put his hands over his head, as he stretched his neck back, "When will this end? Everything seems so gone." Dimitri got up, picked up his leather jacket, he had a few spikes on it here and there, but he didn't over do it like some. He had this jacket for years, back when he was just starting his descent. He walked down his hallway and put on his shoes, he looked at a picture on his wall that his mother had given him. It was a plane, a plane that had crashed and everyone had died. It showed the plane landing on the runway, it was a beautiful painting, it was like a picture of it had been taken and framed. In the sky, were grey overcast clouds, threatening to rain. If one was to look closely though, hidden in the swirls of sad clouds, was an angel looking back, with a loving frown. Whenever he looked at it, he felt as if he could be something new. That he could throw this drug-riddled walking corpse from his shoulders, that he could become something great. A better man, a better person for his world. His dreams and amibtions would come back up, but as he turned away from the painting... He already wanted more cocaine, more lines for his nose whose middle had dissolved long ago. He wanted to taste it, dip his fingers in it, lick it and snort it, he wanted to swim in that white bliss. He loved that false promise, when he had none it told him he would have everything with one last kiss, and with it, like a devil wearing a robe of white, it would break it's promise as it chained him to its walls. At last, he opened the door and walked out into the depressing hallway. The walls here were stone white, dirt covered them here and there in splotches. There was one other person the hallway, a fat old woman, she was blind and her teeth had fallen out long ago. She was having trouble finding how to open her door. Dimitri came over to her and opened the door for her, "There yah go Mrs. Wendy." She beamed, "Oh thank you young lad. If Mr. Wendy was still alive he'd be so proud of a lad like you. Always doing such nice things! I can tell it's you Dimitri." "Thank you, Mrs. Wendy," Dimitri smiled. "Well I got to get going." "Ah, if Mr. Wendy could see you. So young and so like how he was in his youth I'm sure. He was always courteous and friendly too you know. Alright, so I will see you later dear Dimitri, stay good and clean now." "I will ma'am," Dimitri lied and started walking away. "Have a good day ma'am!" "Oh you too!" She called back as she closed her door. Dimitri walked out from his apartment building, all around him were the high skyscrapers of the city. Spears thrown by men, all trying to reach heaven. If only they could hook those clouds and pull them down, pull them down and twist them in the mud down here. Turn those blue colors into brackish browns, and those stormy clouds in the distance, they'd pull those down and take the silver lining out before pushing them back to a broken heaven. Dimitri sighed, "We're all looking for a way out." He walked down the stairs onto the sidewalk, the sun danced in the sky, it's rays warming his neck. He felt the breeze of summer, and it smelled good. Scents of passing flowers, the happiness of children running around the streets, not a care in the world. How he wish he was those kids, just playing around a broken fire hydrogren like in days of yester. How he wished he could just turn back time and be something new instead of this, instead of this dead corpse that walked in the day and the night, with hardly any sleep to go around. He walked, his walk was with shoulders pushed forward, a slump in his back. A hood covered his eyes, the day's brightness stinged them, and though it felt good to feel them die, he wanted to see more of the world before he burned them for good. The day was so nice, it made him depressed, he wish he could be this nice. To live forever in a place like this, that would truly be paradise. To wake up on a bed, opened to the world. The sun shining always, or the moon glowing softly. In his bed, a loved one to show that he was loved in this world of vulgar hate. Wrapping her arms around him, as if he could protect her. "I can't protect a thing," He muttered to himself. "Not a single damn thing." A few blocks later, he came to the bus stop. He got in and paid the fare, sitting down next to three other homeless people. All three of them looked at him, as if he wore robes made of gold and clothes embroidered with gems and designs to fit kings and queens. "Got a quarter?" "Got a drink?" "Got a smoke?" "I have all these things," He said. "They've destroyed me, so I'll let them destroy you too." From his jacket, he pulled out a small beer and gave it to one, to another he gave a smoke, and to the last a quarter. He pulled out his own small beer and started drinking it. It was another addiction, another cobra's embrace, feeding him it's wonderful blissful poisonous beauty. How delicious it tasted, sloshing around in his decaying mouth, and sliding down that tube known as a throat with that burning sensation. Ah, to burn, to purify. He wanted nothing more then to be that bush that wouldn't burn, so when that fire came from the heavens, he'd burn forever. Burn pure. Burn till this black was gone. Burn till it melted off him. That these impurities would give way and he would come out from this stiff cage of mental slavery. If only he could unlock the door. These dreams were erased though, by thoughts of more lines, more lines of cocaine coming back to him. Desire hitting him hard. To replace it, he lit up a smoke and drank the rest of his beer in the second sip. In the time the bus had went only but a few blocks,, he had already begun to shake from not having his angel Gabriel. End of Part 1 ~ |
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