The Alpha and Omega of Drug AddictionThe following two short stories were written and submitted by Phillip McGuinness. To me, the first one is about Phillip's initial experiences with hard drugs; he writes about what it was like. The second seems to be Phillip's secret fear about what might happen if he continues down that same path. I have transcribed these stories as Phillip wrote them; only when left in his own words do the stories capture his own, genuine emotions. Trippen Over Houses "School, shit," groaned from beneath the thick doona. ‘Shake Hands with Beef’ blared through the tinny clock radio. With a great effort Glen raised the covers, sat up and rubbed his eyes. Hot water gleaned his body in sheets, giving Glen’s skin a warm, pink glow. I don’t want to go to school, filled his mind. "Hey Glen, thank God that’s over, I’m starvin’," said John walking out of Chemistry. "I know, I didn’t think lunch would ever come," replied Glen. The oval was about a hundred metres long with trees bordering one side along the fence. Behind the fence is the freeway. Across the other side of the oval is the teachers carpark. Trees run along the top of the oval, from the freeway fence to the carpark, creating a so called border to the no go zone of council property. The smokers sit in the corner where the "no go zone" tree line meets the fence to the freeway, to hide from the teachers walking around. Glen, John and Travis stood away from the group talking. Glen reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a cigarette. "Can I’ve a light Trav?" "Are you coming tomorrow night, Glen?" asked John. "Yeah mate." Glen croaked through a cloud of smoke, "I just have to ask my mum." "Mum, is it alright if I go to John’s place tonight?" "Yeah, what’s happening?" she questioned through a cloud of smoke, "Not much, just a few of us going around for a drink." "S’pose so." I can’t wait till tomorrow night. A chill sped his spine. "Mum, is the heater on in here?" "Yeah Glen, why?" "Don’t worry about it." He sat cross-legged, on his bed, in his room alone with his back against the wall. Long brown hair shadowed his features in the dim light. His electric blue eyes glinted as the square foil in his hand caught the light. He carefully opened each fold of the tiny package with his fingernails. He smiled and slowly shook his head as a very small square of paper was revealed, the Victorian State Government logo glinting off the dull white paper. A cheeky grin played his mouth as his lips opened to accept the drug. The square poised delicately on his fingertip as he gently placed it upon his tongue to sit. Until the coating dissolved. Three figures walked down the darkened street. The only light emanated from a dingy yellow street lamp. "Tonight is going to be grouse." Travis stated to no one in particular. "I know, I haven’t gotten shit-faced in … " Sarah scratched her head, "last week." Travis pushed open the rickety iron gate with a creak. The group passed through and walked up to the front door, which was ajar. Glen let others enter. He opened the front door and creaked down the hallway, and into the lounge room. Slumping into the nearest chair. Forty, drinking teenagers partied on around Glen, who was oblivious to the noise, sitting in his chair.
The television was on, but the sound was drowned by the music from the backyard. Tiny ripples of energy surged from the beat, seeping into the walls and pulsing across the floor. The beat entered his body via his soles. The rhythm tapped into his veins invading the complex network, being flushed in and out of his brain. He fought the urge. The urge to dance. He closed his eyes and looked. Red cobwebs pulsed and grew to the quickening beat of his drum. The tiny lines ever expanding. Threatening to explode. Glen forced his eyes open and found himself alone. The room was rid of all except shadows. He glanced across to the square light pouring form the corner of the room. The hazy sound fell softly to the ground, spreading, sliding beneath the music. He shut his eyes and the vision became clear. Two square illuminations, projected upon each eyelid. The spreading mist circling and enclosing his body sparked meaning into the images. BANG. The gunshot snapped his attention. Crimson filled his void, as the victim fell backwards away from grasp and help. He began shaking. A sharp pain spread across his cheek. "Hey man, you’re trippin’ " said Travis before roaring into deep laughter. Glen uncurled from his tight ball, and looked up into Travis’s eyes. They bulged into golf balls, before contracting into peas. His lips curled into an amused grin as the beginning of laughter stirred from within. Glen gripped his ribs and rolled around hysterically, stopping every few seconds to watch Travis. Glen turned away and started to stare at the wall. The wall started bending, rocking, surging like the ocean. Waves crashed onto pictures, demolishing them in it’s fury. Shadows moving around the room, passing in and out of light, barely distinguishable. His eyes gradually shifted towards the ceiling, slowing down as a feeling of dread passed through him. Glen eyes focused hazily on the ceiling. A ballooning mass bulged from it, directly above his face. A shadow crept up and leaned towards him. The ceiling pointed down and began to grow into a huge stalactite, it’s contents threatening to break the skin of paint that held it back. A gush of liquid splashed across his face. Pain stabbed through his eyes and pierced his brain. The scorching slime spread down his shirt. He tried to scream but nothing came out; instead a hideous rattle escaped his wet lips. A vile painful liquid had passed in, scorching his tongue. Glen stood bolt upright and ran for the door, wailing as he went. Before landing flat on his face, into the ground. Travis walked into the house; he looked back at Glen shaking his head. He walked into the kitchen and greeted everyone. Travis reached into his jacket pocket and removed a brown paper bag. Reaching for a glass above his head, he pulled the bottle of Jimmy out, filled up his glass and sculled it. One bottle of Beam, and half an hour later, Travis wobbled out of the kitchen. He spotted Glen sitting on a chair, staring at the ceiling and wondered what he was doing. Staggering over to Glen, Travis leaned at an odd angle and cocked his head to look at the roof, finding nothing of great interest. The sudden movement stirred the alcohol in his gut, sending it on it’s journey out of his body. A rumble passed up his throat and vomit roared into mid-air, finally landing on Glen’s face and clothes. Glen’s body rocked, a hideous gurgle passed his vomit saturated lips. But Travis didn’t hear this as he had passed out on the floor, still vomiting uncontrollably. "Fuck you, you stupid mole!" Sarah screeched at a blonde who had spilt beer over her jacket. Travis who had recently recovered from the floor, staggered over to see what the problem was. Just as the blonde’s boyfriend arrived. "What’s the problem Sarah?" Travis asked in a slur. "This stupid bitch, spilt all this shit on my jacket!" Sarah replied with wrath, while pointing excitedly at the blonde. The blonde apologised but only succeeded in getting Sarah even angrier. The blonde’s boofhead boyfriend tried to calm Sarah down, but accidentally pushed her. A straight right crashed into his face. Travis followed it up with a left hook to the jaw, shattering it completely, and sending him flying. His foot clipped a body, sprawled across the grass. Glen groaned. The boyfriend fell flat on his face and unconscious to the wailing of the blonde running to his aid. Travis felt a sharp pain pierce the skin of his back, passing in between his ribs and punctured his lung. "That’s for Keith, dog," a sinister voice hissed into Travis’s ear. He slumped to his knees as a Doctor Martin sole flew up and demolished his nose into a pulpy red mess. Spots swam. Travis fell backwards trapping the blade beneath. Glen groaned and rose after someone tripped over his prostrate body. There was a commotion behind him, but Glen didn’t notice as he headed up the steep driveway, and out in the darkened street. Shapes and movement assaulted his consciousness as the wind rustled through the noisy trees. A dark park opened to his left. Quiet whisperings from the leaves invited him inside, urging him to enter. The thick black curtain closed behind his sunken figure as he slunk inside his twisted paradise. Thump. The newspaper rolled away after landing on
the back of Glen’s head. He rubbed his eyes and groggily sat up. His eyes
roamed the garden, blinking in an attempt to distinguish his surroundings.
someone’s front yard. He looked down and his gaze met the headline, "FRIDAY
NIGHT TRAGEDY." A queasy sensation passed into his gut as he unrolled the
paper, revealing a photo. John’s house.
Lost Falling backwards. Tumbling into darkness. Pitch night engulfing his consciousness as he struggles against his fate, not wanting to crash through the bottom of his abyss. Sharp pain pricked his arm. Shock turned to sensation as he shot towards the dark shimmering surface of the void. His head broke the smooth skin of blackness, but still the darkness remained, until he opened his eyes. Angelistic light assaulted his vision, as his body jerked sharply upright. Glen’s eyes slowly cleared as chemicals raced around his veins, destroying the poison trapped inside his closed system. Halos ringed their heads, obscuring their features in deep shadow. "How many fingers am I holding up?" asked the stony faced ambulance officer. He gave his partner a glance and shook his head, but be didn’t catch it as he was disposing of the needles into a plastic container. "Fuckin’ dog!" screamed Glen as he shakily rose to his feet, throwing an icy stare to his saviour as he slowly started to shuffle off. "Fuckin’ wastin’ me thirty bucks," floated into the officer’s ears as Glen slunk around the corner and into the murky park. The dim morning light fought to filter through the thick overhead foliage. Shadows played in dark little corners, dancing with the light breeze. Two desperate eyes were all that could be seen from the little pocket of hell that obscured his form from the gloomy glow. A small balding man walked cautiously down the path. His blue double breasted suit clashing against the dark browns and greens. The snake pounced. Striking a viscous blow to the head, knocking his prey to the ground. Moving in like a hyena, he rained kicks to the body and head leaving the man writhing in pain. Glen then bent down and drove a long thin blade between the ribs piercing his pump, while he lifted his wallet. Cain stood back up, his body stiff with alertness, seeming to sniff the musty air, before mysteriously disappearing back into park. Glen sat down heavily against a huge, dark knobbly tree and opened the Italian leather wallet. A family picture stared him in the face, but he couldn’t feel the happiness. The emotion alien to his world. Rifling straight to the money compartment a crisp fifty dollar bill, sat snugly. A sparkle briefly entered his eyes as he licked his lips, while trying to scratch the itch inside his arm. He pulled out his cheap worn wallet and placed the money inside, removing a dog-eared photo at the same time. A kindly smile played across his face as he stared at the image. The only friend he had since high-school. Everyone had deserted him, but not Sarah, she had stuck by. For three years. Until last week. She had an over-dose. A tear rolled down his left cheek and Glen started his painful walk back to the city to score. He walked up to the Vietnamese kid standing in the Bourke Street Timezone and handed him the money. The kid moved his hand to his mouth and spat two caps into his hand and eventually shook hands with Glen. They both walked off in separate directions. Glen spotted the nearest building and went inside searching for the men’s toilets. He slunk inside and nearly sprinted to the closest cubicle slamming the door behind him and then carefully locking it. He sat down and licked his lips as he opened the first balloon and removed the foil. "Fuck!" was all he could muster, as he franticly scrambled to open his second. A hole appeared in door of the cubicle as Glen started hurling abuse at the ceiling. He ran his sweaty hands through the dirty locks, stared through the splinters, unlocked the door, and left leaving a vapour trail. He walked to Southgate searching for his few lonely companions, desperate to find a way to score again. Glen spotted a small group sitting in a dark corner near the Twin Towers. He walked up to Michael and whispered something into his ear, before they both moved off. They sped down a flight of steps and snuck into the side entrance of the Sheraton. Glen quickly negotiated his way down another flight of stairs, and through a door. The desperate pair finally found themselves in the underground carpark. It wasn’t long before they heard footsteps approaching. Glen could quite clearly make out the sound of high heels against concrete. The sharp sound was growing louder, as her predators hid low beside a car. The tall blonde woman glided hastily past a row of cars and felt a hand snake its way around her mouth. Capturing the cry before it escaped. Just as quick a knife found itself at her throat. Another hand grabbed at her bag, ripping it from her shoulder, before both animals sprinted towards the door, leaving the woman helpless on the ground. The thieves stopped in the stairwell and started searching through their prize, removing the purse first, only to find forty dollars. "Stingy bitch," emerged from Michael’s mouth as he shoved the twenty into his front pocket. They dumped the bag and purse where they had lingered, before leaving the building, making their way back towards Bourke Street. Glen and Michael strolled up to an Asian in the strong mid-day sun, whispered a few words and passed him the money. The dealer walked off and returned with a couple of caps two minutes later. He handed them to Glen, turned around and hurried off. The scraggly pair walked down a dark and dirty alley, trying to find a place to shoot up. Finally stopping behind a CleanAway, about thirty metres from the street. Michael sat down against the wall and held out has hand expectantly. Glen followed by sliding down the grimy brick wall and passed Michael his cap. Glen opened his hit and smiled as two small rocks of heroin stared back at him, hypnotising him, controlling his very thoughts and actions. Michael cooked up first and injected himself. He firstly turned to Glen, and laughed. Michael then slid sidewards down the filthy brickwork with a lost look on his face. Giggling as he went. Glen watched Michael fall sidewards as he removed his belt. He then bent over carefully and retrieved the needle greedily from Michael’s limp hand and placed it on his leg. Glen then carefully transferred the rocks into his spoon and added some water. He then removed a lighter from his front pocket and began to heat his addiction. When it was ready, Glen picked up the needle and drew the liquid up with practiced efficiency. He then put the needle on his lap and tightened the old belt around his arm, and pulled it tight with his teeth. Glen then slid the needle easily into his vein. Pushing down gently, the needle jammed. Frustration welled up inside, as he slammed his fist against the ground. He removed the needle and cleared the blockage. Glen attempted to inject the heroin a second time. The same result followed. He cleared the blockage a third time, and jabbed the needle into his arm, pressing down hard. Forcing the poison into his fragile system. It worked. A smile played across his face, before his heart faltered, twisting his smile in a look of abject misery. His heart beat once more, and stopped forever. Michael sat up groggily about half an hour later and looked at Glen’s lifeless body, sprawled across the ground.Michael poked him a couple of times, and scratched his head. "Shit eh," was all he could utter as he got up. Finally walking away. |
