City of IF

[Mephistopheles]

may contain language unsuitable to people easily offended or who are young.



My Psychosis

I sat gazing longingly out at the silent world. Oh how I longed to reach out, to talk to one person, but no, outside it was more pain, more mockery. I fear for all those people out there, reaching for deaths’ embrace in every little thing they do. I want to prevent their deaths’, but I can’t. Why would I care about them? Let me explain.

Let’s just say that at one time, I was just like you. I had been a happy boy when I was young. I was very well-adapted and even liked by my peers. Everywhere that I went, I found that people knew me, even if I had no clue as to who they were. I had friends and acquaintances . I was every parents dream child. Good grades, never in trouble, always helping out with the chores and never complaining about it.

Then one day, everything changed. My friends and I were out riding our bikes. We were out on a secluded trail. We stopped to get a drink, and Tommy, always the one to push things a bit further than needed, brought out a bag of little white pills. Everyone got excited as he explained that he had some PCP, and then he asked if anyone wanted to join him. “Come on guys, it will be okay, just a few each. Lots of people do it.”

Everyone looked at one another, each wanting to say yes, but striving for nobility in denying the offer. Finally, I spoke up.” You know Tommy, I don’t think that it is such a good idea. What if we get hurt out here or something? Doesn’t that stuff make you hallucinate and lose control of yourself?”

“Well, yeah, that is kinda the point, isn’t it?” Tommy replied in an off hand manner. “ What’s the matter Reggie, are you scared?”

“No, I am not scared, but I don’t feel like giving up control of my life to something that doesn’t care about me. Go ahead if you want, but I am leaving. Anyone coming with me?” I looked at my friends, hoping that they would join me, that they wouldn’t take the chance of hurting themselves, but alas, no one got up with me. “’Kay, well, I guess that I will be going now.” I gave one last furtive look at my friends, then mounted my bike and rode off.

Later that night, while reading a book, a knock came at the door. A big, burly looking cop stood on the top step. “Evening. May I come in and ask you a few questions?” The cop spoke in a deep bass that seemed to reverberate through my chest. “Uh, sure officer. What is wrong?” God, why is he here. What is going on?

“Were you out with Tommy, Harold, Fred and Gabrielle today?” The cop seemed have a pretty intimate knowledge of who I had been hanging out with today. What happened to them?

“Well, we went out riding, and then I had to go home, so I left them up Mossy Creek Trail and I haven’t seen them for several hours. Why?” Was it okay for me to be asking questions? What was going on?

“Do you know if they were doing anything they , uh, shouldn’t have been? Drugs maybe?” He wasn’t accusing, and yet there was an all-knowing tone in his voice that pretty much implies to me that he already knew the truth. Was he trying to find out if I partook as well?

“Uh, well, they uh, they were talking about doing some PCP, but I left before I seen anyone do any.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I guess that your friends decided to do it, and then got it in their heads that they could fly across the freeway. Tommy lived, I guess you can call it alive, but his head is so smashed in that I doubt much if there could be any thoughts left in there. The other three are dead. Why didn’t you tell someone? Why didn’t you come and get a police officer, or tell some ones’ parents? Because you were afraid that they might get in trouble? Better to be in a bit of trouble than dead. A real friend would have stopped them.”

I didn’t realize that I was going to do it, but all of a sudden the door was slammed shut in the cops’ face. My closest friends dead, and it was my fault, because I hadn’t told on them, because I hadn’t been a good enough friend to see that they were going to die, because I had left. Why hadn’t I done it with them? Then I would be dead also. I would be lying on a cold steel cart somewhere, having needles put into me to draw out fluids, having my body cut and broken so that they could find what truly killed me. No. I was alive, and it was my fault that my friends were dead. I started crying and the cop knocked again. And again. “Reggie! Answer the door, won’t you?” But I just stood there, face in my hands, tears flowing freely out of my living eyes. “Reggie? What is wrong? Why won’t you answer the door?” My mother reached for the handle, but I grabbed her wrist. “Mom, I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry!” I turned and ran up the stairs.

Several minutes later, my mom came upstairs and knocked on my door. “Irresponsible fucking cop! It’s okay, honey, it wasn’t your fault. You did the right thing leaving, I don’t care what that cop says.” Was this supposed to be comforting?

“Mom, my friends are dead. I could have stopped them, but I didn’t. How can it not be my fault?” I couldn’t hear what she was saying, I only heard the cop, over and over again “Why didn’t you tell someone? A real friend would have stopped them.” These were the only words that I heard for a long time.

So now you know why I hate myself, why I loathe myself and everything that I am. You can begin to understand why I fear for everybody’s’ mortality. But you don’t know how truly psychotic I became after that day. Shortly after the funeral, I was out walking, and there were some kids riding their bikes. All of them were wearing helmets, except for one. I yelled at the kids, “Hey, why are you letting him ride with out a helmet! What if he crashes and dies! How would you feel?” I turned away from the kids, and noticed that many people were staring at me with looks of shock or disgust on their faces. I hung my head and stared at the sidewalk, walking home as fast as I could.

Another time, I was watching a family picnicking near a pond. A boy, who couldn’t have been more than five or six, ran out into the water, still chewing on the sandwich that he had just finished. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” I shouted at the parents. “Don’t you realize that he could get cramps and drown? Don’t you care about him?” They stared at me, shocked, as I ran out into the water and grabbed the kid, pulling him out. “Don’t swim after you’ve eaten. You wanna die?” The dumb boy just stared at me like I was mental, and then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned right into a fist aimed at my jaw. It broke. The father told me to go fuck myself, and mind my own business. I went to the hospital, tears in my eyes, but not from the pain. No it was the knowing that I tried to help someone out, prevent a demise that was unnecessary, and got punished for it.

I was only a freshman in high school when my friends died. The next four years of my life were a living hell. Everywhere I went, I seen people doing normal, everyday things, and yet, I saw how their actions could result in a tragic end to their lives. I began to withdraw, staring at the floors so as to avoid seeing actions that bothered me. I yelled at people, told them how dumb they were, told their friends how uncaring they were for allowing such activities to take place. I thought about dropping out, about staying at home and never leaving the house again.

My mom noticed the changes that were occurring, and she did as any caring mother would: she got me a therapist. He talked to me, he tried to get it through my head that it wasn’t my fault, that no matter what I had done, they would have met the same end as they had. He was continuously telling my mother that I was suffering from ‘survivors guilt’. I got meds. They didn’t help. Now I was an emotionless individual who still couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the idiocy of humanity.

Finally, I graduated high school. My father told me that it was time to get a job, to grow up and become a productive member of society. He couldn’t understand what I was going through. He taunted me. He never physically abused me, but his words cut and bruised my psyche further than it already was. My mom was more understanding, but I was creating a lot of tension between the two of them.

“Honey, you need to get over your past. It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.” She always gave me the same words of encouragement, and somehow, they lost all meaning. Good thing that she wasn’t my therapist.

“Mom, you just don’t get it, do you?” How could I explain that I felt compelled to save every life out there? That I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing someone doing anything that might cause them to die?

What do i do now?

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[Chinaren]

I guess you seperated them, 'cos it's easier to read now! :D

I think he should kill the boy, just to teach them a lesson. :shock:

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[Mephistopheles]

Someone has to die. it is inevitable.

[Crunchyfrog]

Wow that's a good opener. I think you're right a death is an inevitability, but so soon?

The last part of the chapter just lists three occasions where he has tried to stop kids from getting into trouble but ending up being punished for them. I interpreted these as just illustrations depicting the background of this character's situation, the last one ending with a broken jaw. I think perhaps we move on a little in time, in the next chapter.

Perhaps it starts with news of Tommy (who as we know did not die, but is maybe still in hospital long term) or some event that triggers a re-living of the events immediately prior to the last time he saw his friends alive, with some interesting consequences.

I dunno... just some ideas.

[LordoftheNight]

Maybe he wakes up or something you mean Crunchy? And Reggie (I think?) goes after him, as it was his idea in the first place?

[Lilith]

Cripes, would you please quit switching from 3rd person to 1st person and back again?

It may be intended to allow the reader to feel the confusion and uncertainty of the characters thoughts and actions and emotions but pick one and stick with it please.

Just takes away attention from the plot of the story.

[Mephistopheles]

To those who have read and/or commented upon this story, I feel that i may have perhaps rushed entering this post. I believe that i am going to revise and re-edit it so that it is more......complete. I will take some of the constructive critiques and and implement them. Hopefully it will turn out to be a more satisfying and enriched chapter, one with a better dp hopefully. Sorry for doing this, but i feel that it is the right thing to do. Thank you for your patience.

[NeverNeverGirl]

You have edited this now haven't you? it seems kinda different from when i last read it.

have you decided to continue on with it?

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[Mephistopheles]

Hmm, i thought that there were still options as to how he could proceed with his life, because there are issues that he needs to address. How to deal with his problem, his parents, the fact that he is a graduate but is still living at home. Granted, there may not be an active decision to be made, such as killing the boy or the father, but that could remain an option yet. Perhaps i view it from a different point, seeing as how i know where i wanted to head with it, but chose to see where you guys wanted to take it?
guess that we will have to wait before i plan anything else. perhaps this will wind up being just an intro? and yes, dp's area pain (take that how you want, holds true in most instances.).

[Crunchyfrog]

This does look like more of a prologue.

I am kind of left with the feeling of - 'ah, this is where the story is about to begin.' (Sorry, not being very expressive, today!)

Hmmm, well, if you were going to work a DP into this chapter, it might be easier to have a strong 'event' to spring it from.

The jawbreaking event was a good one, but the way it had been written looked (to me, anyway) like an illustration of the main character's state of mind getting him into trouble, and not actually the beginning of the story. So that may have been a misinterpretation on my part... (sorry!)

Now you have worked some more details into this chapter, (meds, relationship with mother, etc.) that gives more background, which is good.

Here's a suggestion: Make this the prologue, (no DP) and then launch into your first chapter with the jawbreaking incident. Really develop it, the hours preceding it, climaxing with the jawbreak, and end it with the trip to hospital.

Then you'll have a DP - and your adventure would begin.


(Edit to add:)

On re-reading, another suggestion, you could, perhaps, end this current chapter with the main character having a row with his mother. That might also have a good springboard for a DP - Does he leave home, go and find a friend, go off and do something weird, take an overdose, etc. etc.

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[Mephistopheles]

Ok, so i am beginning to feel like the general consensus is that this could be a decent prologue, but i need to write another chap so that a dp can be established? ok, i guess that i will work on that when the vibe is right. thanks for the patience guys and gals who have read this. I'll try to make it worthwhile for you.

[DukeReg]

I just read it, realised I had no idea what to suggest, and then got confused by all the comments. :? It might be best to write a chapter with a clearer focus and DP.

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[NeverNeverGirl]

Crunchyfrog wrote:
On re-reading, another suggestion, you could, perhaps, end this current chapter with the main character having a row with his mother. That might also have a good springboard for a DP - Does he leave home, go and find a friend, go off and do something weird, take an overdose, etc. etc.

I agree from here, if anywhere, it seems kinda like they should launch into an argument about her apathy towards his childhood trauma...

[Mephistopheles]

Every moment of my life was excruciatingly painful. My father was never missing a moment to harp on me. My mother grew more impatient. Reality was slipping through my grasp. I remained in my room all day, eating at night so as to avoid my parents. I talked to no one. Thoughts became an incoherent buzz within my mind.

“Reggie? You need to come out here. Your father and I need to talk to you. We will wait for you in the living room. You have ten minutes before we come in there and talk.” My mother. ‘What does she want now?’

I pulled myself out of bed. ‘I guess that I had better get this over with.’ Hopefully I would be allowed to remain silent. So long as I can merely nod at the correct times, they won’t know how much worse I have gotten. I hadn’t spoken words out loud in over two weeks. At least, I hope that I haven’t begun talking to myself without knowing it. One can never be sure, can they?

My mother and father sat at separate ends of the couch. I took the recliner that they had obviously moved so that I would have to face them. “Reggie, you can’t keep hiding. You need to confront your issues, and you need to grow up and deal with it. Your friends are dead. You can’t do anything about it. You realize that, don‘t you?” I merely nodded. What was I supposed to say? I had already told them, repeatedly, in every way that I could conceive of, that had I acted different that day, my friends would still be alive. “Are you listening to us?” My father seemed to consider eye contact as a well conceived way of ignoring him. “Well, speak up! Why don’t you just move on with your life. Is it that difficult?”

“I don’t understand, dad. I can’t see people without telling them how their actions are going to result in their death. Everywhere I look, people are behaving in ways that could kill them, and I can’t just watch them do it!” Tears were beginning to fill my eyes. Please don’t let him see me getting ready to cry. “If I had told my friends that what they were going to do would result in their deaths, they might not have done it. I have to live with that everyday. What do you have to live with? That your son is a wuss, that he wants to save the world? God, it must be hard to be you!”

“Your friends were to blame, not you. They were responsible for their own actions. I think that it is time for you to go see Tommy. If anyone is to blame, it is him, and maybe if you see what has become of him, you will realize that the person responsible is paying his debt for the death of you friends.” My father sounded serious. I don’t want to see him. I can’t. He is the last one. What good can possibly come of this?

“No. I won’t go. You can’t make me.”

“Then you can get your clothes and get out of this house. I will not tolerate your idiotic behavior any longer. Face the true culprit, or get out!”

Crap. I wasn’t expecting this! What to do? I have no where to go, no way to handle being on my own. How would I feed myself? Where would I stay? “If I go, can I stay at home a little longer?”

“If you go, and see the truth, and you get a job and start acting like a normal human, then yes, you can remain. These are the conditions under which you remain beneath my roof.” My mother looked hopeful. I was considering their lame ass idea. Maybe this is the cure that they were looking for? They seemed to think so. I didn’t. At least this would buy me a little time to figure something out. There was always that.

“Okay, I will go. But when I say it is time to leave there, it is time, agreed?”

“Fine. Your mother and I will wait outside the room for you.”

I returned to my room, but sleep eluded me. I was not looking forward to this. What was it that the cop had said? That it didn’t look like it was possible for any thoughts to remain in Tommy’s’ head? Something like that. What was this going to accomplish? Probably give me nightmares, increase my guilt. It was my fault that Tommy was a brainless vegetable. I should have taken the dope away from him. I should have told someone’s’ parents, or called the cops, or something. “A real friend would have stopped them.” These words came back to me every time that I thought of my friends. God, I hate that cop.

The next morning came bright and clear, with promises of sunshine and happiness. My mind knew this to be a joke. The world was a cold and dark place, where the only thing that was certain was death. I went to the bathroom and showered. I was sure that I stank. I hadn’t bathed since I went into seclusion. I looked into the mirror for the first time in a while. My cheek bones were more prominent than I remembered. There were dark shadows beneath my eyes. I was so white, like a corpse. Well, what did I expect to look like? I hadn’t been eating much, or sleeping, and I couldn’t recall the last time that I had seen the outside of my house.

“Ah good, I see that you are up and ready to go. Excited to rid yourself of your problem. That is a good sign.” My father is so stupid. I nodded my head, then went down to the kitchen. My mother gave me a plate with some eggs and toast. “Thank you for trying this, honey. I want to see you get better.” I said nothing, merely sat and began to eat. Everything tasted so dry, so bland. Had food always tasted like crap? I couldn’t remember. Maybe it was just anxiety. Better to just eat and remain silent.

After I finished eating, we all headed out to the car. I stared at the ground. Better not to look, better not to say something that would start this woeful experiment badly. I buckled my seatbelt. “Dad, put on your seatbelt. You wanna get……” I cut myself short, realizing that I was about to blow everything.

“What was that, Reggie?”

“Nothing, Dad. Nothing.”

I stared at floor. I traced the lines and shapes that the carpet made so that I would keep my mind occupied and my mouth shut. Finally, after what seemed like my hundredth time racing my eyes around the swirls and slopes of the floor, we arrived.

“Be strong son, and learn from what you see here.”

‘Yeah, whatever old man.’ I nodded my head to show that I heard him. I didn’t want any more yelling, not today, not now. I lowered my head again. I watched his feet to be sure of my path. Here was a place of death. No doubt that things were happening inside this building that caused death. I just want to get this over with, get home, and figure out the next step.

The light reflected off the tiles. My fathers shoes continued their up and down pace. Abruptly, they stopped. “This is the room. Go in and have a look at the real cause of your friends’ deaths.”

I opened the door, the metal handle cold within my grasp. I took two steps and then returned the door to its’ closed state, trapping myself within the room. I faced the door for a few moments, trying to prepare myself for what I was about to do. ’Okay, I am going to turn, and there will be Tommy. He is the one that caused me all this trouble. He is the one whose hands are bloody from my friends accident.’ I turned to face the bed.

I wanted to scream. Tommy lay on the white sheets, tubes and wires running from various parts of his body to machines and bags all around his bed. His body looked whole, but his head, my god, his head was mostly gone! His mouth was there, open, drool gathering in the corners, then slowly trickling down the side of his cheek. His nose was flattened to his face, and his forehead sloped backwards at a steep angle. I couldn’t see his eyes,, where are his eyes? About two inches of skull must have remained on the top, beyond that was nothing but skin. No hair covered his skull, it looked as if only half his brain remained. How could he possibly be alive? Wouldn’t it be better for him to be dead, than be in this state?

I swallowed, forcing the terror and bile that threatened to escape back into my stomach. Stepping forward, I couldn’t understand why I was here. God, this was my fault! He wouldn’t be here had I made a different choice that fateful day. Far from making me feel better, this was making things worse. I had thought that maybe I would be able to change my guilt to anger, and then transfer that anger to Tommy, but no, I couldn’t do this. I could not be angry with Tommy. All I feel is deeper self loathing, and pity. Pity for Tommy that he had to continue…life? Was this life? I was willing to bet that were I to undo any one of these wires, he would die. This was my doing, all mine! I turned and moved to the door. I had to gain my composure, make my parents believe that this idea of theirs had met much better results than it really had. I put my hand on the cold handle, feeling how smooth and hard it was beneath my hand. I took a deep breath, then opened the door and quickly stepped out of the room.

“Well, feel better now kid?”

“Yeah dad. Can we go home now?” I couldn’t trust myself to speak any more than this. I wanted to yell at him, to tell him to go in their and see Tommy and see how he felt afterwards. I fell in behind my father, staring at the floor, trying to get the image of Tommy out of my head. We reached the car. I got in, and we drove home. I was so focused on removing the image, trying not to listen to the jumble of thoughts clamoring around in my head, that I did not even realize that we were home.

“I’m gonna go to bed now. I didn’t sleep well last night. Is that okay?”

“Go upstairs and sleep Reggie. We can talk when you wake up, okay honey?”

“Thanks mom.” I hurried up the stairs and lay on my bed. I closed my eyes. The image of Tommy was burnt on the lids of them. I opened them. I could still see him laying there, worse than dead. I saw my other friends, as they were when I had rode off alone, before they died.

We were all sitting at a picnic table in the park. We were playing D&D. “I choose to do drugs,” Tommy said. “Will the party join me?” Everyone else said they would, and then turned to face me. “I choose not to.” I said. “Then the party is no more.” Tommy’s head collapsed inwards. Both of Harold’s legs suddenly bent and twisted at odd angles as blood began to flow out of his mouth and anus, staining the torn clothes that covered his squashed body. Gabrielle was a head-less corpse, blood gushing from her twisted neck. Fred had a sunken chest, blood flowing freely from his mouth as well. “Come now Reggie, don’t you want to be with us? This could have been you, this should have been you. A real friend would have remained true to his friends. He wouldn’t have fled.” These words came from Gabrielle’s head, which lay a feet away from me. “Hey Reggie,” said Tommy. “You want to know how to make it stop? How to return to a normal life?”

“Yes, please, tell me Tommy, how do I become normal again?” Could he hold the answer for my problem? Would I be able to get better? Could I really lead a normal life again?

“Come closer Reggie, and I will tell you what to do.” I leaned closer, the stink of death rising up from all around me. “Tell me Tommy, what can I do?”



Well, I hope that this is an improvement, and that there is a dp here. What does Tommy say? How does Reggie take it? Thanks for sticking with me through this!

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[Chinaren]

Oooh, Z, you're wicked! Good suggestion though, can't top that just at the moment.

Very good chapter Mestepopopolopopolus! :D

[Crunchyfrog]

Excellent chapter, Mephisto! Can't think of a worthy suggestion right now, will come up with something in the morning!

[Head Eater]

Well done mortal! Thisss hasss been reviewed and passssed by the Head Eaters.

:grin:

[Chinaren]

This was moved to Horror Messy, but if you think it would be better in another forum, let me know.

[Mephistopheles]

Yeah, that will work good. It should develop into a horror, and most likely, should it wander the right paths, it will become quite messy. thanks.

[Mephistopheles]

Ok, well, only one suggestion so far. Should i just write another chapter based off Z's suggestion, or any other ideas on where to go from here? I'll get back to this saturday and see what has been decided.

[Crunchyfrog]

The other friends, who are present in the scene stifle Tommy with a pillow before he gets a chance to reply. They say that he has paid his pennance for killing them now, and it is now Reggies turn. They advance on Reggie, instilling fear in him for his life.

So, now he thinks his dead friends are after him...

[Mephistopheles]

trying to get poll going, added some more options. Hope y'all have had a great weekend

[Mephistopheles]

Poll is up! Have fun!

[Mephistopheles]

Poll open til sunday. Hopefully get another chappy done then.

[NeverNeverGirl]

gosh darn it i missed the pole that really sux.. im not sure what i would have voted for here and i am very curious to see where this story is going.
Turning it into a horror seems less obvious to me than other people.. is he goign to get hooked to drugs himself and wind up in a pit of loathing self denial or is he going to find out just who killed his friends (well someone had to supply the kids with the drugs...)

also a quick q i might have missed somewhere how old is Reggie.. ?

[Lilith]

Ah, shit. I missed it too! DAMN IT! Oh well, looking forward to the next chappy, Mephistopheles.

[Masterweaver]

Of course Reg is going to shout "NEVER!" and Tom will become Vader. Obviouso.

[Mephistopheles]

"You have to experience what we experienced Reggie, and then, you will get over your problem" was the simple reply that poured out of Tommy's dead mouth.

"Okay, what do you mean? Do I have to die in order to feel better? Why would I want to do that?" I just couldn't understand what Tommy meant.

"Are you really that dense that you don't understand? Do some drugs, Reggie. Give in to that which you denied on the day that we died, gain understanding through your own experience. Then you will be free." I tried to see the others, but they were fading. Perhaps it was a trick of my subconscious, but it seemed that my friends were trying to negate Tommy's words, but they were gone before I could tell. Tommy smiled, a sly, cruel smile, then faded also.

I awoke to darkness. I listened to the house, trying to tell the time by the noises within, but there were none. It must be late, I thought to myself. I sat up in my bed, the vision of my dead friends still before my eyes, the words of....wisdom(?) from Tommy still lingering in my ears. Would drugs really help me get over my friends' deaths? Would I really be able to watch people skydiving without shouting out "How dumb do you have to get to jump out of a perfectly good airplane to risk bouncing off the ground when your chute doesn't open"? I couldn't see the sense in this logic. Surely this was not the wisest course to follow? How would partaking in the substance that killed my friends help me? Where would I even get any?

I put my shoes on and crept downstairs. I wasn't really sure where I was going to go, but I figured that a walk would help me think better, that the cold night air would clear my thoughts. Carefully, I opened the door and stepped out into the dark night. I took a deep breath, wondering where to go, when I decided that I thought to much. Just let my feet start moving, and who cares where they lead me. If my dream was really a sort of vision, then answers were sure to be found somewhere down the road, right?

Holding to my customary habit of staring at the ground, I had no idea where I was until I heard her voice. "Hey baby, twenty bucks for a blow job?" I raised my head, and there stood a middle aged hooker, her heels ridiculously tall, and her fishnet stockings stretched a little too wide at the knees to have come out of the package that way. She had a short, tight skirt on, and a very low cut blouse cut short so as to barely cover her cleavage. A tiny jewel glittered in her belly button, just above the back of a tiger whose feet were hidden beneath the top of her skirt.

"Do you realize how effing stupid it is to sit out here dressed like that? Anyone could come along and rape and kill you, you dumb whore!" I blurted out, not even thinking about the fifty in my wallet, and what wonders I could receive for that sum.

"Honey, ain't no one gonna hurt while me while my pimp is sitting right over there. Now, then, would you like to do something besides enlightening me to the risks of my profession?" God, she was so calm and business like! What am I supposed to do?

"Um, well, uhh, yeah. Um, doyouhappentoknowwhereicangetsomedrugs?"

"What sugar? Slow down, you don‘t need to rush things out. I am not going anywhere right now."

"Sorry, do you know where I can get some pcp?" God, now I really felt dumb. Not only was I telling a whore stuff she already knew, but I couldn't even ask her for drugs without making an ass of myself.

"Are you a cop? Because I don't deal with cops, and this isn't funny if you are kidding." She looked around like a frightened cat surrounded by rabid dogs.

"No, ma'am, I am not a cop, but, well, you see, I have a friend who told me that...I really needed to try PCP, and well, you know, I thought that perhaps I might be able to find some down here, that's all." Speaking of here, where the hell am I? I looked into her eyes and smiled, and she seemed to warm to that, because she smiled back. "Honey, I don't do angel dust, but, well, if you want to come up to my crib, well, perhaps I can hook you up with a little something. Give me a twenty, so that my pimp knows that I am on your time." I handed her the fifty. "Well. Perhaps you will get a bit more than just high." She laughed and goose bumps rose on my neck. Something told me that her laughter held no humor, that her humor had died a long time ago, but I didn't really care. That was her problem. Tommy said that experience would help me. I was going to get that experience tonight.

She reached out and took my hand. It was small and warm, fitting so nicely into my own. She led me up the street to an alleyway. Cats eyes followed our every step, and soon the street lamps gave no warm glow that reached into the depths of the surrounding darkness. "Follow me, honey." She pulled me to a gated fence on our left. I followed, her, finally letting my other senses become active. I smelled her sweet, musky scent beneath the perfume that she wore. 'Red Door', same as my mother wore. I could hear her breathing, feel her pulse as it beat through her veins, giving her life, but taking her life at the same time, as it carried poisons and disease throughout her body. She was dying. Everything about her reeked of death. I could almost feel the temperature drop around us as death moved closer. I looked over my shoulder, but there was nothing to see. Death was hers, not mine, so why should I worry?

"In here baby". She had led me into a tiny little studio. Her bed was in the corner, the sheets all tangled in the blankets. A dirty little fridge hummed away, oblivious to the activities that were about to occur. She stepped away from me, and pulled the dark curtains shut. Her tiny purse flew across the room to land on the counter top. "Well, come over here. Don't be so shy." She motioned for me to sit on a tiny little love seat, while she knelt down and busied herself with a drawer on the end table. A few seconds after I had sat down, she stood. She was holding a small mirror, and upon the mirror was a razor, a straw, and a copious amount of white powder in a pile. She sat herself beside me, and took up the razor. The sound of metal scraping on glass rose my neck hairs again as she separated a portion from the pile. She started chopping and dragging the powder around, until she had two lines drawn out. "Do you want me to demonstrate honey, or do you think that you can figure this out?" She was smiling again, but I almost sensed her eagerness to go first, like she really wanted to get that powder into her system. "You first, please" I answered.

She bent her head down, her black hair falling around her face. In one hand she held the straw to her nose, while the other pushed one nostril shut. She snorted while tracing the line with the straw. I watched as the powder disappeared into her body. She threw her head back. Her neck arched beautifully, and I saw her heart pump once, twice, beneath the flesh before she lowered her head again. "Your turn baby." I took the straw from her, and lowered my head as she had done. The razor caught my attention. My head was lowered, but I lacked the hair to hide what I was about to do. Hopefully she wouldn't notice. With my pinky and ring finger I picked up the razor. Then I pushed one nostril shut and snorted as she had done. The powder burned in my nose as it passed into my throat and then into my lungs. I leaned back just as she had, tears welling up my eye. I sniffed and sniffed, but my nose just wanted to keep burning and running.

Then all went numb, and I felt as if there was nothing in the world to worry about, that everything was perfect. A complete calm passed over my body. I giggled at the pure euphoric state that I was in. "It's pretty good, huh?" She leaned over me, placed her mouth over mine, and kissed me, my first kiss, here, in a whores' room, coke flowing through my body. I was in heaven. This was why he did it, this is what drove Tommy to kill my friends. This feeling of elation, that nothing could possibly be wrong with the world. Blood flowed to every part of my body. I felt that I had never before been truly awake. I wrapped my arms around her, pulled her closer, pushed my mouth harder into hers. I never wanted to feel her move apart from me.


okay, well, it has been a looooong time coming, but here is the next chapter. Let me know what you think, and where you feel it should go from here. there are lots of options here, at least i think so. hope it was worth the wait!

[Chinaren]

Nicely written Messy. I'm not sure where to go from here, but I'll think on it and get back to you.