New Flesh redux

Preface

It never ceases to amaze me, or rather I should say amuse me as to the lengths the government will go to in putting an end to drugs. They fund some billboards and television ads with empty slogans, absurd analogies, and celebrities describing drugs as an epidemic and the scourge of our modern world, and they claim success. They feel this will stop people from wanting to drop their worries and get high, not to mention stop those who are already hooked from continuing their uncouth habit.
I guess I was born into such thinking. From the moment the scalpel hit the umbilical cord my father was snagging little vials of medicine from the trays. My dad always preferred the prescribed stuff to go along with his alcohol. He would always be screaming at my mom for either a belt to wrap around his arm or a beer, and would add to my moms collection of black eyes and bruises in return. The everyman’s nobody. My mom always told me never to be like my father: an alcoholic dope fiend. I managed to fulfill half of that.
It is difficult to finance a drug habit AND an alcohol problem. I skipped the prescription gig and decided that street junk was the more financially sound course. It was four dollars for a packet of heroin, and it wasn’t even cut with glucose or hydrochloric procaine: this meant out of one gram of this stuff 0.9 grams of it was pure and unadulterated junk. Turning such a deal down is just bad fiscal policy. Not that I took that much, I prefer a dosage of a more subtle caliber.
Of course with such an eccentricity I have come to be associated with the drug crowd. They all looked like clones of the same broken home. They were all missing their teeth with skin that managed to mold into a dry leathery texture. By looking at them you wouldn’t imagine they had any fluids in their nutrition deprived bodies. When they smiled their brown wrinkled skin would suck around their gums making them look like rotten jack-o-lanterns.
I did not share these same corporeal features, then again I wasn’t as addicted. I could quite whenever I wanted, I just chose not to. I am sure of this. Sometimes to make sure I would not take my normally scheduled dosage, and I felt fine, and would promptly find a vein. I was in complete control.
Most of the affor mentioned were dead or dying from overuse, but I had nothing to fear. I had my youth. No I would go a much different way…


Chapter One


I did not write this little journal to reminisce of past events, at least not of those years. A simple way of putting it is that I am addicted to a drug that does not exist. It all started at a party. The person holding the party was really just a friend of a friend of a friend, and a drug dealer which made him an instant companion of mine.
The whole living room was filled with young and new drug addicts, the underachievers of the future. There were a few I knew, some of which I would rather not have. One was a kid named Jonathan. His personality wasn’t greatly offensive, but he, like many new junkies, would do anything to support his habit. He would sell his mothers goiter to pay for his habit, and sell out any friend. He had a ferret like complexion and a hook nose. I was among friends though, a Mr. Donald, who we called either Mike D or just D. His eyes always had rings from lack of sleep, and his arms were covered with scars. He had fresh cuts on his arms from where he tried to quit the habit and tried to take his mind off the pain of withdrawal. This was always better than feeling the pain of withdrawal. Since he was at the party I needn’t say how his attempts at sobriety went.
The man running the party came in, and introduced himself as Lee. Most people just called him “The Professor.” His house was a common hang out for these little get togethers. He didn’t look like a drug addict so I assumed he was solely in sales. He had one eyelid that never fully opened, and the eye beneath it had a dead expression resulting in a cold stare.  He was the best kind of business man, one who could make you feel so uncomfortable you wanted to buy something just to leave his presence. However at this time he was nice and pleasant.
“So” he said to me with his distinctive raspy voice that sounded like fabrics being torn “enjoying the festivities?”
I noticed this was directed at me so I replied with a “Yes indeed.”
I then looked around at the others to see if they would reply but they were all engaged in a conversation of previous times that had done drugs.  These conversations I felt defeated the whole purpose so I chose to stay out of it.
“Tell me” he continued with a strange smile that did not seem connected with those eyes of his “would you like to try something new?”
I told I wouldn’t mind something new to wrap my mind around. It had been forever since I felt the buzz of a new found high. He showed me to his back room, and what a room it was. The place was a narcotic heaven, and a perpetual hell. There were devices for making meth, bags of coke. One could die in a state of bliss in such a place. Every ungodly concoction for getting high was represented in a congress of little brown pill bottles. I felt a chill down my spine that was pure excitement, like a kid in a candy store.
“Tell me” he said sorting through a drawer “are you into hallucinogenic?”
“Not especially” I said wide eyed at the collection “but I could be persuaded under the right circumstances. I imagine you could get me to try anything.”
Lee found amusement in this statement and said “I shall certainly try.”
He turned around finally and noticed a transparent glass bottle like you would find in a nineteen fifties hospital. Inside were little brown shavings that looked like cockroach wings that had been plucked off.
“This is my new toy” he told me handing me the bottle. I responded by shaking the bottle making a light rattling sound.
“For you” he continued admiring his own work “is break a little bit off and ingest. Almost like blotter acid.”
I looked at the little flakes and didn’t believe they could be that potent and expressed this thought to the man who replied “Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.”
I pocketed the bottle and told him I would try it later and that under my current state I could not fully distinguish the effects from the ones I was currently under and thus could not do it justice. He seemed to agree, but cautioned me not to take them during work. This was easy for me since I was unemployed. 
We returned to the other guests who were now giggling like idiots over god knows what.


Chapter 2
First Taste

I was in my room bored as could be waiting around for something interesting to happen. I had almost forgotten about the professor’s little experiment. Finally, the bottle containing the flakes rolled over to me. I don’t know why or how they did, but I decided to try it.
I opened the bottle and immediately smelt a strange moldy smell like you would find in a vacant kitchen. I broke off a piece and slowly placed it on my tongue. It was possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted. It tasted like an old dry piece of spinach, and left an even worse after taste. I eventually spit it out. I had shopping to do anyway, so off I went…

I got into my car, which was a rare occasion. When I turned it on I gave the radio a listen, nothing but static. However in between the static I heard a voice repeating religious sayings.
“Jesus….comith…..a thief…”
I figured I had come across a religious channel and switched around, but it was still nothing but static and religious phrases squeezing its way through the waves. I turned the radio off after a while and still heard some static, but it was fainter then before. I didn’t know what to make of it, and I didn’t even think of the flakey substances I took earlier since I didn’t think the dosage I took was great enough.
I entered the store, an old beat up grocery store with outdated food, old workers who could never make enough to retire and would probably die working here.
I walked over to the deli section where I went to inquire about some steaks. When I got there they were pulling in a fresh truck of meat.
“Say,” I asked “do you guys have any good steaks in?”
“Sorry,” he said without even checking “we are plumb out sir.”
“Are you sure? It looks like you guys are getting some new shipments in.”
“Those are lions; they are a bit rougher and less flavorful.”
I stood puzzled for a minute.
“Is there much demand for that?”
“Yes there is.”
I decided not to continue the conversation so I just left. The man gave me a suspicious look as I left. I felt that everyone was watching me for some reason. I was distracted by a woman watching me when I felt something fall out of my pocket and I heard a crash followed by the sound of little scattering capsules. I looked down and the floor surrounding me was covered with ecstasy. Everyone looked at me. I felt all of the blood in my body stop and then quickly fluctuate through my body making my whole body feel like it was on fire. I didn’t even remember putting the ecstasy in my pocket.
There wasn’t much I could do except pick up the tablets and hope no one questioned me. I bent down looking at everyone around me and then looked down at the tablets. I started to pick them up when they all moved away from my hand. I didn’t know what to make of this. Then I saw all of the capsules burst with six legs and they started to run away. I ran after them and chased the drugs down the aisles. They were hiding under racks and behind people.
Now everyone seemed less interested with me and more so in their own self absorbed world. I didn’t eve think at the moment that it was strange that I was chasing after walking ecstasy capsules in a grocery store. I captured a few of the stray pills, but the more time I spent the more uncomfortable I felt so I took what I could and quickly left.
No one looked at me as I left. I don’t even think they noticed my little episode.
I got home, and most of what happened then I forget. I just woke up a few hours later with a dry mouth and an urge to try some more of those flakes that had been given to me earlier.  I grabbed the bottle to find it empty. I would have to pay another visit to Lee.

Chapter 3
A new taste

I drove up to the professor’s house and waited in the car for a minute wondering if I should pursue this drug further. I did not particularly like what it had done to me, but I felt a strong physical urge to try which was strange for a drug of its type. I decided to at least ask a bit about it. As I got out of the car I still felt a bit lightheaded from the drugs and was still hallucinating a bit.
I went up to the house and rang the door bell which made a loud screaming sound in the house. Lee eventually came to the door covered in blood.
“Why hello there” he said with his signature voice “come to tell me how my drug went?”
I didn’t even bother to ask why he was covered in blood at that point but merely said “I need more.”
He smiled and said “I am glad you asked, because I happen to have an upgrade for you. Come on in.”
I walked into his house. It was surprisingly clean considering how many parties he would hold in it. Even when I walked in there was a group of older drug addicts sitting around the table on god knows what.
“What here a moment” the professor said “I need to arrange some things.”
He disappeared into one of the many rooms and left me with the old group who did not even acknowledge my presents but merely told stories and pontificated viewpoints on world affairs.
“You see” one said “I never got into the whole acid kick. I will take a bag of heroin any old day, and you can quote me on that. Then again I am also a schizophrenic. When you take LSD the voices get louder and you can’t identify them as easily. I remember when I first took the stuff. I saw this tree made of eyeballs right there in my living room. I tried hitting it but it just vomited up another tree. Eventually I gave up and the thing started to cradle me like a baby. Since that I haven’t touched the stuff. Just the heroin and you can quote me on that.”
I tried to figure out whether or not he was making the story up. Older junkies tend not to lie since their age and wisdom shows that it doesn’t help. On the other hand older junkies can be the worst liars. They will make up all sorts of stories just to make themselves feel better. “I remember once when I dated Marilyn Monroe. We both took some pills and sailed to sea.” They know it is a lie, but if the others believe it then no harm done.
I was pondering this when the professor walked up to me and told me to come into his back room. As I entered I felt that rush from the first visit again, enjoying the look of things.
“Now” he said reaching into a drawer “this one is a little different from the last batch. That is you take them differently.” 
He turned around with an old nineteen fifties cigar box that had a razor blade on top of it. He slowly approached me with the cigar box which had scratching sounds coming from it.
“Now be sure and hold on.”
He put the box down on my lap and I slowly opened it and looked inside. Inside of the box were about fifty plaid cockroaches crawling around. They started to come out of the sides and I dropped the box and screamed.
The professor seemed to be amused by this and slowly picked up the roaches.
“Man” he said “I knew you would get a little jump out of it. Now this is pretty simple.”
He picked up the razor blade.
“All you do is take this and cut a little incision in your arm.”
He then motioned where to do this.
“Then you insert one of these little devils.”
He released a small laugh as he grabbed one of the roaches.
He grabbed the razor blade and gently started to cut a small incision in my arm. It started to bleed very freely, all of the red liquid deserting its restraints.
“We got a real gusher here” he said still hold a strange grin “but that’s alright. Those are the best, gives them something to nibble on.”
He started to insert the bug. I felt my jaw slowly drop and try to scream, but nothing came out. I felt the thing crawl its way on the outside of my vein. I felt my whole body cease up and the blood just stopped. No movement. I felt like I was experiencing a whole month in a single minute.
“Now this can feel pretty real. I imagine-“
That is all I remember. Before he could finish I woke up, and I woke up to several horrors.

Chapter 4
A Strange Mans Living


I should first add that my memory was quite vague, like I was slowly waking up from surgery. The first thing I noticed was a terrible taste in my mouth that managed to spread its foulness to my throat. I looked around the house and thought I was in someone else’s house, although nothing looked familiar. The furnishings, books, everything in fact were different. The walls were covered in blood. I looked outside and sure enough it was my place. I didn’t know what to make of this.
I went to take a shower. Upon doing so I noticed several peculiarities. My arms were covered in scars, some of which were fresh. They were poorly sewn shut, but didn’t look infected. How many of those did I take?
I looked at the paper and saw the days date. It had been an entire week since I went to the professor’s place. An entire week missing.  I decided to postpone the shower for a few more minutes.
I looked around the house and saw writing all over the walls. It was written rather sloppily with black ink. Over the television it said “Beware: The may watch you through the things you watch.” Over my bed was written “Most vulnerable spot.” The rest of the house was laced with signs of paranoia. The knives were locked up in the kitchen.
I saw the cigar box on the table. I opened it and there were only seven roaches inside. I got nervous. What if I needed to take more?
I needed to take a shower and get to the professor’s place.
The bathroom seemed to be hit the worst. The toilet seat was chained shut and had dried up blood encrusted to the bowl. There was a toaster in the bathtub which looked like it had been used and fried out. I grabbed a broom and pushed it out of the tub. I looked at the wall of the shower and saw “leave” written with red ink.
I took my shirt off and found scars all over me. There was even a scar on my stomach that was a sentence written upside down: Stop while you can.

Chapter 5
Visit to a friend’s house

I drove up to the house which felt different. The outside looked different with dead grass covering the lawn and the paint had dried up one the house. I went up to the door and the doorbell was ripped out. I knocked as hard as I could.
Instead of the professor a young girl came to the door with a black eye.
“May I help you?” she asked with fear underlining the question.
“Hi, is The Professor, um, Lee here?”
Her expression changed from fear to confusion in a single bound of the eyes.
“You are joking right?”
Now I was the one who was confused.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You were here the night it happened. You are the one who found him. That was just three days ago.”
I tried my hardest to remember what she was talking about but nothing came to mind.
“Is he hurt?” I asked.
“He is dead. Remember, you found him in the bathroom. It looked like he had been torn to shreds by a lion or something, just terrible. The police are still trying to figure out what happened to him.”
I stood there and took all of the information in. I wasn’t so concerned about the professor being dead, but more so about that fact that he was the only one who knew about the drug and who could supply it. I started to feel my body moving back and I slowly followed its lead.
“I have to go” I said.
“Is that all you wanted?”
“I have to go.”
I ran to the car and got inside. I had to think of something to do but my brain was in no condition for it. I felt light headed.
I started the car up and left. Maybe all I need is some music. I turned up Bach’s Goldberg Variation as I drove home. I looked out the side window for a minute and saw a little girl on a street corner staring at me. I passed that street and on the next one was the same girl in the same pose. I looked at her briefly as I drove by and on the next street she was there, standing and staring.
I figured I need to get home and relax some more. Maybe things won’t be so bad…

It has been three days now, and the withdrawal is getting worse and worse. I can’t sleep at night. I just lay there, staring at the black, rolling around. I have so much energy I just get up to do something, but when I do I immediately get this strong fatigue. I am too tired to work, and have too much energy to sleep, so you just stick there, in the middle of the two. Your brain is working but you body is tired, unable to satisfy either.
Even my thinking is getting harder and harder. I feel like I am in a movie watching somebody else play my part. My brain occasionally gets these little jolts where I feel a wave shiver its way through my body. I have lost ten pounds in the last two days. I have this growth on my hand that is starting to resemble lips. I have used almost all of my roaches. There were about four left.
I had tried to take my mind off things, but this was less than effective. I tried to watch television, but I can’t get any channels, just a black screen with a row of numbers that is always counting down. The radio doesn’t work; it just plays Bach’s Goldberg Variation.
I decided I need to go to the doctor, and I set up an appointment for tomorrow in the morning. Maybe he can help me.

I got up this morning and tried to dress as casually as I could for the doctor’s appointment. I was in the waiting room with a mixture of every sort of person you could find. Old woman with brown teeth, expensive cloths, and a hip problem. Young kids dying of some disease that has no cure except chance.  There was a good chance that most of these people would be dead within a week, and I might be one of them.
The doctor called me in to the small room which was decorated with cheap comes-with-the-frame art and needles, vials, glove boxes, and every sort of ungodly tool for examining the human body.
“So” the doctor said taking his seat in a small chair (everything seemed small in the office) “what seems to be the problem.”
He pretended he didn’t see the cuts all over my arms.
“Well” I said, not knowing how to word it “I have a problem…with drugs you see.”
His face didn’t change a bit, it stayed in its apathetic pose.
“And the thing is, is that-“
I was cut off by him.
“I think I know what this is about.”
He spun his chair around and opened a drawer and started to shake a big red can. He turned around again to reveal the label: Burrough’s Pest Control: Exterminates ants, roaches, and anything else.
He sprayed some on my arm in a great mist. I felt something in my arms running up, crawling away, and you could see it by looking at the lumps in my skin, like rats running under a blanket.
“Ah-ha” the doctor said with little enthusiasm “mmm-hhhmmm. Well, I think I know what you need.”
He turned around again to go through his tool collection. He finally turned around and presented the cure to me, which came in the form of a meat cleaver.
“This is your best shot” he said placing the giant metal blade in my hand “you’ll know when to take it.”
I examined the hole in the blade, and handle, everything. With that it was over and I left the office. I wondered what I would do with the meat cleaver.

Chapter 6
Winds of change and an end


It has been five days now and I have started to board up my windows and push all of the furniture against my door. I am writing more on the walls. The clock in the living room has turned into a giant eyeball. I imagine that is how they are going to watch me now that I have boarded everything up.
I am out of roaches. I have little food or liquids, or anything that could sustain life for an extended time, but these concerns weren’t on my mind, I am concerned about getting the drug I need to keep me alive.
I feel tired, I need to sleep. I don’t know what to do. I just need sleep. I am tired, but I am afraid to fall asleep because I can’t tell when I wake up because my dreams seem so real, but I will need the sleep. I am going to sleep for now…

Our protagonist, Bill, fell asleep at the computer, hands still touching the keyboard, and a cigarette held limply in place with his lips. He was woken from his abyssal slumber by the sound of a voice which he recognized as the professors.
It coughed to clear its voice.
“Please dictate the following: ‘I am tired, but I am afraid to fall asleep because I can’t tell when I wake up because my dreams seem so real, but I will need the sleep. I am going to sleep for now.’ Put three periods after that.”
The hands started typing without even waking Bill up. Finally Bill realized this was not a dream and jumped out of his chair. His eyes started darting all across the room.
“There is no need for all of this excitement” the voice continued.
“Who said that” Bill yelled.
“Lower your voice.”
Bill noticed that the voice was coming from his hand. The growth that was originally on this hand had now morphed into an actual mouth with chapped lips.
“Come, come” it continued “this is no time to jump about. You must write while you still can.”
“Write what?”
“Why, your account of course.”
Bill thought for a minute and asked “why do I need to write my account?”
The mouth let out an irritated puff.
“So people will know what happened. When they come here to find a dead body and a house destroyed there will be a lot of questions. This will save some time. Just don’t leave out the nice details. The ecstasy, the doctor’s office, the smiles that resemble rotten pumpkins.”
The mouth started to lick its lips with its razor shaped tongue.
“How do you know I am going to die?”
“How else can this end?”
Then Bill heard a scraping on the glass outside. He immediately investigated the noise, not giving the hand anymore thought for now. He started to pull on the planks as much as he could when it finally released, exposing the window. The window had the words “Who am I” written in red ink form the inside. The outside was an ocean of black ink. Bill look shocked when the words changed to “I don’t know”.
  “I told you” the hand said “we don’t have a lot of time.”
  The radio turned on full blast with Bach’s. Bill was staring at the radio when he was startled by the television set turning on revealing the timer dropping down to lower numbers.
  “See, we are running out of time” said the hand in an anxious voice.
  “Shut up!” Bill yelled at the hand.
  “Why?” the red ink said on the window.
  Bill ran to the kitchen and saw the meat cleaver. He knew this was the time. He took the meat cleaver and chopped down on his hand. It took two whacks to cut it off. The hand screamed as it fell. No blood came out: instead thousands of capsules poured out of Bill’s hand.
“Is this what I have been taking” the window said.
The toilet started rattling as if something were trying to get out as the timer on the television hit zero. The eye on the wall rolled up and turned to a mouth and said “Time’s up”.
Eventually a lion came out of the bathroom. The window now had “Time’s Up” written on it. The lion pounced on Bill, gnawing at him which caused capsules to fly everywhere. The windows broke open and all of the ink started to rush in the room picking the little capsules up and swaying them.
Bill’s last thoughts were something the professor said: This can feel pretty real.