Life of Denial

It’s 7:00pm and she’s got the shakes. Hanging out for this long in this neighbourhood is enough to put anyone’s teeth on edge. The only problem is that this is home, this is where she lives. There’s police sirens one street across and gun shots echoing between the skyscrapers. Everywhere you look the city is rotten. Everything good has either left long ago, or as with her, has lost almost all hope and is slowly rotting away.

‘Eight Pound’ is slouched in a boarded up doorway on the other side of the street. That knowing grin of his gets stuck to his face as soon as he spots her on the other corner. He reaches down and picks up a discarded cigarette butt that is next to his feet. He rolls it a little listening to the faint crinkle of dried tobacco leaves while some half burned flakes float off the end into the air. He grins underneath his tracksuit hood and lights up.

She’s rooted to the spot, can’t move a muscle. Her teeth are grinding and her hands are clenching. A silent battle rages in her head. She knows she’s loosing, that she’s already lost. That won’t stop her trying, just trying to resist for one more moment. She sees him spark up, and in the glow they make eye contact. His grin is enough and all too soon she’s giving up.

Eight Pound stands. ‘The price has gone up’ he calls. He knows she has the cash, which means she’s here for a reason. A reason she’s trying to deny which is she’s here for a purchase.

One deep breath with her eyes closed, and her mind is cast back across the years to when life was full of hope, not scars and tears. That life’s gone now, replaced by pain and sorrow which is why she needs this one last hit to push it all away. Jam it back into the box inside her mind so she can pretend that she’s not already dead.

Slowly her head sinks down and her eyes open to look at her crusted up hands that are curled up into tiny quivering fists. She sighs, the battle is over although that doesn’t mean that she won’t fight it again. She knows she’s kidding herself, each fight she has with her addiction takes less time to lose than the last. She hates herself for lying down but it’s so much easier to run than to face her life. Here’s something that will fill the void, even if it is a poison.

Her hands relax and she stands up straight. There’s another sigh of resignation. Then with silent distinction she crossed the intersection in front of a multitude of cars, her dress billowing in the wind and wispy white hair streaming...