Addicted Sickness

Addicted Sickness

The timber of the arm rest was smooth under her bruised and shattered hands. She slid steadily down into the seat, and layed her head back to rest, reflecting on the dreariness of the shadowed morning. Lighting a cigarette against the cold grey sky, she watched the smoke drift upwards, until it died in the wind. Like the creeping darkness that hung over her mind, the clouds lingered; laying shadows at her feet.

Out of nowhere a single, lonesome tear slid down her battered face, before she flicked it away with an angry hand.
Faces flew past, staring eerily. Her sunken eyes glared back in defiance, as she pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders. They didn’t know what went on in her world, as they let their ignorance make their judgements for them. Putting out her first cigarette, she hastily lit another one. Regretting every time she lit the paper, she knew she shouldn’t be doing this to her body. But what did it really matter, in the end? Death was always imminent, the common fall that made them all equal in the end. With the current insanity of her surroundings, the burning nicotine in her lungs seemed just a little insignificant.

‘Hey freak, you know it’s illegal to be smoking dope in public?’ yelled an arrogant voice behind her.

‘Yeah, got any a-grade smack there for me sweetheart?’ laughed another.

She didn’t react, only to bow her head, making her hair cover her gaunt and pale face. A shaky hand smoothed over her skirt, a poor attempt at attaining a little perfection for herself.

‘Why were her hands shaking again?’ she thought. Often times she tried to blame it on the smoking, or the sufficient lack of sleep. But she knew what it truthfully was. A wave of dread washed over her, as she knew it was time for another fix. Cautiously, she raised herself from the seat. Adjusting herself to look as presentable as possible, it was another attempt at purity and innocence, in order to hide the inner afflictions left by what she was about to do.

Swift long strides carried her to the bathroom, where she flung open the door to a grotty cubicle. Inside she huddled to a corner, stark against the wall, her eyes constantly darting to the lock on the door.

‘God help me,’ she whispered, allowing a tear to roll down her cheek. She slid her hand into her satchel, pulling out a refined black case. Then as methodical as an alchemist, she bulged her veins, wrapping an elastic tourniquet chokingly around her arm.
Inside the case lay a deadly silver thorn, one she knew would soon bring excruciating relief. Pressing the long syringe to her skin, her eyelids fluttered close, and on the count of two, she thrust it through. Her veins, screaming in agony, contracted and swelled, as the beauty of the poison spread through her skeleton like wildfire. Writhing on the floor, her body started to drift away, releasing her mind from its physical shackles.

* * *

Slowly, her vision blurred back into focus. She flung her lead-weighted arm across her bag and desperately clutched for her phone. She dialled, waiting impatiently for it to pick up.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello....mum?’

‘Are you okay?....Speak to me, are you alright?’

‘Yeah, yeah I’m fine now. I....I just took another shot.’

‘Oh ok, that’s good. That’s great honey. How do you feel?’

‘I can’t do it anymore mum, I can’t do it. It’s too hard.’

‘The doctor said you have to, you can’t fight it any other way.’

‘I’d rather die of this disease than take this treatment to live.’

‘Come on, honey...’

‘Come pick me up please mum...please.’

‘Of course, I’ll be there soon.’