The Records of a Junkie (643 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.82 on 29 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Vicousness63 (View user info) at 2006-09-24 19:15:22 EDT
The sheet of paper, dotted with near incomprehensible black writing, remained in his clutched fist for days. A syringe, empty, stuck still in his crooked elbow, completed with a certain elegance the desperation of the picture. He was handsome, Elliott being the product of two highly attractive people. His thick black hair hung straight and lank in his face. The grease seemed to stain his forehead and pimples dotted his usually clear skin. Missing a front tooth, his open mouth seemed a delightful parody of the slack-jawed child stars of the early nineties. A light brown crust laced his long ebony lashes and every lazy blink brought a shower of tiny chestnut meteors down on his cheeks and bare chest. A web of beautifully powder blue veins snaked their ways subtly across his abdomen and the pale skin below it.
Elliott sat on his heavily stained ecru carpet with an inkless pen in hand. He was scribbling fiercely, completely engrossed in the crumpled sheet of paper bearing the letters that sealed his fate. F. F. F F F F F! Elliott pushed harder into the paper, etching large childlike "A"s into the offending document. With a slight crack his pen broke. Elliott sighed impatiently and stood up shakily from the floor. It took him only a brief moment to snap; he yelled in rage and threw a small table lamp against the wall. The light bulb shattered with an audible spray of glass, while pieces of red, green and blue lead-crystal fell to the floor in large chunks, broken but not destroyed. Elliott walked over to the large gaping hole in the drywall, ignoring the glass that embedded itself like a parasite in his tender swollen feet. He traced with an eloquently bowing finger the misshapen circle that was now a part of his wall. Overcome with exhaustion, he then collapsed onto the floor, his hands clutching tightly his head. The needle fell out of his arm and like a true junky, he noted its absence.
No money. No job. Flunked out of college. The only thought in his distended head was how he could score more dope.
It came to him in a flash.
Not all resources exhausted, he got up with renewed enthusiasm. The phone felt heavy in his cut up hands, and he could feel blood trail down his back. It pooled unnervingly at the band of his boxers. Dialing a number that seemed to have surfaced in his memory as if by a miracle, he prayed frantically for someone to answer.
"Hello?"
"Eh, hey, man." he croaked.
"Who is this?" the harsh voice questioned.
"Elliott, man."
"Oh, hey. What's up?" his voice lost its edge, and with that, its interest.
"Let me be frank here," Elliott stopped to hack up a lung. "I need to score."
"Chicks?" was the vacuous reply.
"No, no man. Smack."
"Ooh, I see," the voice breathed. "I got some good shit."
"Great. But dude?"
"Yes?"
"I don't have any money. I mean, you know I'm good for it, right? My parents are sending me a check tomorrow. You know I'm good for it."
"Fuck, Elliott. That's putting me in a real bad position..." the voice hesitated obviously.
"I need it, Jay. I need it."
And that was all it took. Elliott hung up, satisfied and excited. He pulled on a white shirt, oblivious to the large red painting now forming on the back of it. Fidgeting slightly, he sat down to wait for Jay.
After an eternity, contained, of course, in roughly a half hour, Jay showed up with the stuff. He could sense immediately that he had made a mistake. "You have a problem," was all he said before he walked out haughtily. But Elliott didn't care. He had long sense stopped vying for his friends, or rather, drug dealers, approval.
Feeling around under the couch for his lighter, he managed to get the bag open simultaneously. Quick as a flash he had out a table spoon and squirted an indecisive amount of water over the black chunk of morphine derivative. Holding the lighter with a shaky hand and the spoon with his other, he began to stir using a toothpick between his top and bottom teeth. Once the solution was to an acceptable consistency he threw in a cotton ball and sucked it up using the syringe. Casting around desperately for his belt, he instead settled on wrapping an extension cord tightly around his upper arm.
The effect was almost immediate. His eyes rolled back in orgasmic pleasure, and he suddenly felt whole again as his entire being disassociated itself from reality.
On the brink, seconds before his inevitable slip into narcosis, Elliott decided that he didn't have to worry about whether or not he was going to be good for the drugs. After all, this was going to be his last trip.
----------------------------------------
"Mommy..." he said, shaking with incomprehensible cold. "I quit doing the drugs."
"Elliott, are you alright?" her concerned voice replied.
"I stopped. You never have to worry about me stealing CD's anymore. You never have to worry about guarding your purse. I'll never steal again. I quit heroin." There was the sound of static on the other line.
"Darling, your father and I are coming to get you."
"Why? I'm better now," Elliott's crusted over eyes struggled to open. "Except I can't see anything..." A hysterical cry from his mother both alarmed and perplexed him.
"Hold on baby," she said soothingly. "We'll be there soon."
"To celebrate?" he asked thickly.
She was sobbing harshly as she responded, "Of course, we are... so proud... of you Elliott."
"I did it by myself mommy." He shook violently.
"Yes darling..."
"I'll see you when you get here," he yawned loudly.
"No, Elliott-!" He hung up the phone slowly. Her voice sounded panicked, but he wasn't worried. He knew exactly how to overcome his problem.
The syringe laid next to his arm, filled with a thick blue solution. Slowly inserting it in a vein, drawing back some blood to make sure it was positioned properly, he pushed the plunger forward. The cleanliness was incomparable.
"I'm not worried it won't work." he said into a black tape recorder. "I've been faulty at a lot in my life, but I will succeed in this. When I told you I was clean, I wasn't lying." He laughed bitterly and screwed the cap back on a bottle of drano.
Rewinding the tape carefully, he pressed play and let it go from the beginning.
"When she first left me for him, the jealousy ate me from the inside out. I could feel her fucking him. I could feel her as she devoted her life to him. I could tell they were happy. I wanted to murder them both. Then, when it didn't work out, and I got back together with her, I gave her my everything. I never thought I'd get her back. I loved her more than anything. I still do. But she's gone again, and I'm jealous again, and I feel really homicidal again. I wish I could say this will pass. I know it won't."
The tape faltered and his voice reappeared, this time deeper, more gruff, as if he had a cold. "I saw Shandy today. She hugged me. She felt me up. She asked if I had any dope. I told her to fuck off because I don't do that anymore. The fresh track marks on my arm beg to differ."
The tape faltered again. "The doctor tells me I'm bipolar. He tells me I need help. Shandy too. They all think I'm insane. He hinted at schizophrenia, but never came out with it fully. Told me I exhibited signs, but future tests will tell."
The tape faltered one last time, as Elliott's eyes fluttered back shut. "I'm not worried it won't work. I've been faulty at a lot in my life, but I will succeed in this. When I told you I was clean, I wasn't..."
His breathing shallowed, slowed, then came to a stop. He had conquered his addiction. He had won. He was free.
User Reviews
Submitted by Wildman (user info) at 2007-06-08 02:11:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
OK, now I understand what makes this even more difficult for you sans the drugs.
You're a she, trying to write about the emotions of a he.
Submitted by Wildman (user info) at 2007-06-08 01:56:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
He's just fixed and he has a temper tantrum?
Not likely
His dealer tells him he has a drug problem?
YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING!!!
(there's a few more but you get the idea)
When writing about the effects of drugs, only with first-hand experience will the tale ring true.
Submitted by viciousness63 (user info) at 2007-06-08 01:19:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Yeah, I definitely was not sure as to the effects of draino on the body. I just sort of took poetic license. Thanks for reviewing though, I think passion is a far greater element of good writing than technical skill or even plot.
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2007-06-07 12:39:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
That's it...I'm writing something today....thanks....
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2007-06-07 12:38:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was worth it. A few things did not totally grab me like the "score" part and the draino (see below), but all it all I really liked it. Please write more often. You have passion when you write, which is more than most people can say.
"Score" - any junkie can tell you this word only means drugs, sex is not in the forefront of conscience in junk culture. Unless to score.
"Draino" - Nope. It's too caustic and would be instantanious, he would have seized up and been gone within 4 seconds with no ability to contruct internal dialogue. It's called a "hot shot", where when you've fucked over too many people in the scene you risk a deadly mix to erase you.
Oh...and I spell like shit so take nothing from me, I'm apparently fucked up.
Submitted by a_little_more_time (user info) at 2007-06-07 05:57:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This, however, was balls-out.
Submitted by SPECIALk (user info) at 2006-10-02 23:30:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-10-02 10:35:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2006-09-25 15:53:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow.
Damn fine work. Damn fine.
Submitted by DrSeussman (user info) at 2006-09-25 13:59:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fantastic writing.
Submitted by Wicked (user info) at 2006-09-25 12:20:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Owie draino...
Submitted by morontian (user info) at 2006-09-25 11:32:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn good.
Submitted by AsshOly (user info) at 2006-09-25 04:30:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
why the fuck do your votes not count in Ubermadness?
Submitted by The_taste_of_Monkeys (user info) at 2006-09-24 23:46:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
CHRIST!
Submitted by ooQueso (user info) at 2006-09-24 23:36:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well done, but very dark and depressing... Kinda wish I hadn't read it.
Submitted by viciousness63 (user info) at 2006-09-24 23:29:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Sicosemen: not a dopehead, but I've tried everything you can name. I regret most of them, and am too frightened of how goods the rest of them felt to ever do them again.
It seems like many of us here have received "those" phone calls. I too got one at the tender age of twelve from my own brother. It almost killed me.
Submitted by nyxmar (user info) at 2006-09-24 23:10:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Its good to have a hobby :) On the literary side I too thought the phone call was heartbreaking. Ive had friends that were deep into drugs like heroin, oxycontin, and fentanyl. Ive recieved those phone calls before, Its saddening to know what it sounds like....
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-09-24 20:30:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very impressive for a topic that constantly gets done, not to mention that you know a bit about detail. So many people who try the whole heroin thing don't make any mention of water, cotton ball etc. and will fall to descrepencies. I sure hope you are not a dope head. Fucksex?
Submitted by viciousness63 (user info) at 2006-09-24 20:03:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I aim to please, my sadistic friend.
Submitted by nyxmar (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:58:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitted by viciousness63 (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:55:21 (#)
Ranking: 0
I don't like to tie people up, but I do like to *be* tied up.
To be honest, I'd hoped you would prefer that....
Submitted by viciousness63 (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:55:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I don't like to tie people up, but I do like to *be* tied up.
Submitted by littledan (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:54:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
That was really fucking good. Wow.
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:54:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
excellent
Submitted by nyxmar (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:51:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Im betting you like to tie people up?
Submitted by LSD420 (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:48:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Extra plus. The phone call was heartbreaking, because I know EXACTLY all the ins and outs of a call like that, unfortunately...
Submitted by viciousness63 (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:44:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
While I despise S. King, I appreciate your comments wholeheartedly.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:41:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
A good story. For future reference, please read something like Stephen King's book
"On Writing." I must have counted at least 30 unnecessary adverbs.
The writing was good in general, but when almost every other line contains slowly,
quickly, hopefully, darkly, etc. it gets distracting. Please take these comments
in a positive way, as they are intended.
Submitted by viciousness63 (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:35:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thank you. I'm glad you could look past my spelling errors. I just now caught like three of them. BTW, I am of the female persuasion.
Submitted by Cracked_out_cali (user info) at 2006-09-24 19:26:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You, sir/ma'am, are very twisted.
And I'm digging it.