Lacey Says This...

It was a
Tuesday afternoon… Like any Tuesday it was slow and dragged on like an old
timers love story. He had waited all day for the right time to shoot up. He
knew if he did it first thing in the morning that he was an addict. So he had
to wait till at least three in the afternoon.

     If
he did it at three… he would be high till about six. Then at six he could take
a few shots and go to bed. He could then wake up and wait for three again.
Should he have done it when he woke up at ten in the morning, he would be high
till three. Then he would have to shoot up again. And twice in one day was too
much… that means you have a problem.

 

     It
was 12:45pm.

He sat on the couch trying to watch
cartoons… but every time he looked at the clock he was reminded of how pathetic
his existence was.

He had not been laid in months. Had
not even had the urge to masturbate. He had completely lost contact with that
being downstairs. Not really sure how he felt about this issue… he convinced
himself that sex to him, was the drug. And it was the only thing he needed.

     Though
it would have been nice to have had a companion. Someone to hold him when he
was high. To stroke his head and whisper sweet words in his ears. Someone to
tell him he was not a dead head and that his worth was valid. Sometimes he
would close his eyes and imagine her. What she would look like. What her voice
would sound like. Her hands would be soft, and her hair dark. She would touch
him and it would warm his body. It would bring him closer to living.

 

“Fuck it.”

He said as he looked at the clock
with its blaring red numbers.

12:50pm.

 

He walked over to the drawers next to
his bed in his studio apartment. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a
wooden box with a picture of Felix the Cat on the top.

He sat on his purple comforter and
opened the box. A grin spread across his face as he looked upon a needle, a
spoon, a lighter, and a bag of heroin.

He had a bit extra left. But he would
have to get a ‘refill’ tomorrow.

Black Tony was the guy he would call…
and every time it was a dreaded event. For Black Tony was a lonely guy. He
would keep him in his shady apartment for what seemed like hours. Talking about
nonsense like conspiracy theories and the latest drug drama. You had to listen,
you had to pretend you cared, because this was the guy you needed to see.
Cheapest prices, best shit.

 

He pulled everything out and one by
one he put them on the bed.

Once they were all lined up, he went
over and unlocked his door. He did this every time incase he were to die, it
would be easier for them to get in and find the body.

He grabbed each item and went into
the bathroom.

 

The bathroom was his church.

The only place holy enough to get
high in.

 

He sat in the same place every time
on the cold tile. He closed the toilet and lined everything up again.

 

As he began to cook the stuff, he
added a bit more powder then normal. He had to get high enough in hopes to kill
and extra hour or so.

He loaded the gun… and grabbed his
tied from off the bathroom counter. He wrapped it around his arm as if it were
going to hold the limb on.

He then held the syringe up to his
flesh and he took a deep breath.

 

“here we go.”

 

He said. He said this every time.

He pushed the fluid into his vein…
and waited.

It hit him in seconds, and he sunk
down onto the floor. His head resting against the toilet. It felt so good.
Every muscle in his body turned to Jello and he felt such an overwhelming
amount of love and happiness that he could hardly breath.

     And
that was when it happened.

His stomach started to clench… this
had never happened before. His heart began to pound. His eyes shot open in
horror.

As he tried to move himself to see
what the problem was, he found that he could not move a muscle.

As his heart started to pound out of
his chest he began to realize what was happening.

 

He was in the middle of an overdose.

 

‘fuck. Fuck me.’

He said in his head.

 

‘no. no. this can not happen.’

 

His mouth started to foam. And as he
pushed his eyes as far down as they could go he watched the vomit start to drip
onto his chest.

He was breathing so hard he sounded
like he had just run a mile. It was gargling the puke in the back of his throat
occasionally causing him to cough.

He then began to shake.

 

This was about the point where he
knew he was going to die.

Silence began to grow… and he was
losing touch with reality.

 

‘please god.’

He thought,

 

‘please don’t let this be the end.’

 

He began to think about how he had
not wanted to die. how stupid it was to be in this situation. He felt shammed
for all the things he had done. How could he have never seen this coming? How
could he have been so naive to think that it would never happen to him? It was
now… and all he wanted was another chance.

 

‘please… please god. I will never
touch heroin again. Please… I have so much left to do. Oh god please don’t let
this be it…. Im so sorry.’

He could hear himself sob… though no
noise left his mouth. He was stuck in his head with his body not responding. He
could feel the tears streaming down his face… and that was when he closed his
eyes and things went blank.

 

Blank.

Like everything was just turned off.

Something greater was holding the
remote control, and he was powerless.

There were no sounds… no feelings.
Just absolute nothingness.

 

So this is what its like to die.

So this is how it all goes down.

 

The door was left open, so it
shouldn’t be hard for them to find him.

He had no job… so he had to just hope
someone would try and get a hold of him. When one of his friends realized he
was not answering… they would stop by. He hopes. Maybe no one would call him
for weeks. No one would care. Maybe no one loved him. His body would sit there
and decay in his sanctuary, and no one would know. The neighbors would finally
start to smell his rotting body and they would call the landlord. They would
then come in to find him.

What would his parents say? Would
they care. He could picture his mother finally crying. Finally giving two shits
about him. Too little too late. She would be so devastated that her only son
was gone, and she would then feel bad for being such a terrible mother for so
long. He would finally have his vengeance. He would listen to everyone talk
about him.

He could hear what they would say… ex
girlfriends, friends, foes, family, fans.

People who treated him like shit
would preach to be so holy. They would say they were his best friend… they
would say they never saw it coming.

Some people would talk about his
private life. They would spread slander like a wild fire, and nothing in turn
would be sacred. He would have been hung on the cross, displayed for all to
see.

He would hear the tears of his ex girlfriends
and past lovers… he would hear how much they loved him. He would hear people
talk about his talent. He would be surprised to hear how people actually
appreciated him.

And then one day… they would just
stop talking.

No one would care anymore. So much
time would have passed that he would be yesterdays news. He would have been
forgotten, once again.

 

He was too young to die.

He knew it.

He had so many things left he wanted
to do. He wished he had another chance. He was hoping that GOD, the big guy,
had heard him plead. Maybe he was forgiving, and loving. Maybe he would take
pity.

 

Hours passed.

The sun began to creep in the window.
It was the next morning. And like a scene from a movie, its amazing rays cast
right onto his cold body.

He could feel it warming him. Inch by
inch he could feel the life coming back into his body.

He could hear the birds in the
distance. Though they were so loud their songs sounded like they were right in
his ear.

Slowly, he began to open his eyes.

 

He was there… in the bathroom.

He could feel himself breath. His
chest slowly moving in and out.

He could feel the part of his head
that was resting on the toilet begin to ache from being pressed firmly against
the porcelain.

Holy shit… he could feel.

He was not dead.

He began to put two and two together.

As he sat there for a second he tried
to gather the strength to sit up.

He slowly pushed his palms against
the floor.

He pushed filmily and felt himself
begin to rise. He opened his eyes wide, and looked around the room.

There was vomit everywhere. His shirt
had crusty dried puke all down it, and the floor was covered in it. The needle
was hanging out of his vein like a limp dick. He pulled it out and set it down
next to him.

 

‘holy fuck.’

He thought.

 

‘I’m alive.’

 

The sun was so bright and over
powering he wondered if it was god himself. How did he get so lucky? Was it his
promise to never touch the shit again. Maybe it was that the lord saw his
potential and knew how much more there was left for him to do.

Whatever it was, he felt so good. He
finally, for the first time in years, felt alive.

Truly alive.

 

He smiled.

As he pulled himself off the floor,
his entire body felt like it was hit by a truck. He just stood there for a few
seconds. Basking in the glory.

 

He walked into the main room and
looked around.

He walked into the kitchen and
grabbed a cup and stuck it under the faucet. He filled the cup up with dingy
water and pressed it to his lips. He felt each sip slide into his body. It
tasted so good. He filled the cup up three more times and drank it all down.

He then walked into the main room
again and sat down on the couch.

He turned the TV on and began to
watch cartoons.

As he dosed off… he hoped that when
he woke up he would feel better. Less hung over.

He dreamed about playing in front of
thousands of people.

The stage lights making him sweat.

People roaring so loud that he could
hardly hear what he was playing.

Everyone came from all over to see
him. To hear his music. His art. Everyone loved an appreciated him.

He could almost feel his fingers hurt
in his dream and they strummed the strings fiercely.

This was life. This was what he lived
for.

 

As he woke himself up from a loud
snore… he looked around the room.

It was a quarter to three in the
afternoon.

 

He got excited to know that it would
be time to shoot up soon.  And just as
quickly as that thought came, he remembered what just happened.

He remembered how he almost died. How
he promised his savior that that was the last time. He thought about his dream…
his goals… he thought about how close they all came to being taken away. He
thought about the horrors that were bestowed on him hours ago. He thought about
how scared he was… how lonely… he sat there for moment. His promise…. How could
he forget his promise.

 

He looked at the clock again.

 

His mind went blank. And he just
focused on breathing.

He closed his eyes…

And he tried to think some more… he
tried to remind himself some more.

After minutes,

He opened his eyes.

 

2:50pm.

 

He picked up his phone and dialed Black Tonys phone
number…

 he prayed
today was his lucky day and Tony would drop the stuff off at his place.