Choices

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I close my eyes, some how this makes the voices louder. Urgh. I open them again and people are still talking. Yap yap yap. Will they ever shut up!?
'Danny! Are you asleep?'
Obviously you fool, my eyelids flicker open to please the old hag of a teacher.
'Fell asleep again have we?'
No my eyelids have a problem, they forget to blink from time to time.
'No, miss' I huff.
She stalks over to me, and I shift uncomfortably under the scrutinising eyes of the class, muttering and stifling giggles because they think this teacher is comedian of the year.
'Really, because it looks like you were asleep to me,' she frowns, I frown up at her finding it hard to believe she was once a favourite teacher of mine.
'Can you leave and wait for me outside the room. I'll be out in a minute'' she throws over my shoulder as I lazily throw my unopened books into my bag and leave the room, letting the door close with a sharp BANG.
The soft pastel colours of the wall glare at me. 'I'm back', I mutter. Me and this wall have been getting to know each other for a while now. You see, it's all because I've been getting kicked out of lessons A LOT lately.
'Oi! Danny Wattayadoiiing?' a voice bellowed down the hall. I think she meant 'Danny! What are you doing' but with Blaze you can never be too sure.
'I got kicked out' I inject as much venom into my voice as I can, and glance up through the glass panelling in the door, fully aware they can hear everything we are saying, 'By that ugly cow.'
I watch the teacher's face crumple and glance up at me through the doors, and at the same time I hear Blaze's tinkling little laugh.
She struts down the hall before stopping half way and looking at me a half smile playing on her lips, 'You coming?' she calls.
I know what she wants me to do. Leave. Bunk. Blow this joint. What ever you call it, she wants me to do it. My head forms a polite refusal as Blaze speaks again 'I got some weed, I know its what you like'.
'Sure, I'll come' I grin sheepishly. She always knows my weakness.

We stop running when we reach the park the gang already there; Casey, Michelle, Stuart, Grace and Ava.
'I won! I won!' sings Blaze dancing like a maniac, already high as a kite.
'So you did' I laugh, also high. Damn, that was one good joint.
The others laugh as Blaze thunders onto Casey and Michelle's laps. At the same time Stuart holds out a bottle of vodka, jiggling it to and fro, reminding me it was, after all, a Friday.
So it was going to be one of those kind of Fridays.

I wake up, head pounding, half drunk still, my eyes refusing to open and lying on a patch of grass. I roll over expecting to feel more grass, instead find my face on some one's leg.
'Geroff!' mumbles a girl's voice, pushing my face off her leg.
'Sorry' I mumble, forcing my eyes open to see, where exactly, we had ended up.
One word crossed my mind, and it begins with 'F' and rhymes with 'duck'.
We were still In the park, which wasn't so bad, it was wasn't pitch black out but early morning hours. But what worried me most were the police that were strolling towards us their neon jackets glowing, half of us were asleep, the others drunkenly scampering away clutching valuable drugs or booze to their chests. More people had arrived as the night progressed, so names didn't register in my head.
'Blaze, wake up!' I slur. 'Police coming, c'mon, run!'
She obliges and gets up, and we take off running down the hill, towards the park's exit and the street, bouncing off each other if we come close to falling.
We hit the street, and wobble, unused to the hard ground, only used to tripping and landing more or less safely on soft grass.
The Police were catching up now, and I knew we were done for, they were going to press charges this time, we had already been warned enough times.
Blaze realises as well and slumps on the side of a wall, we close our eyes as footsteps patter over towards us tugging us upright once more. Unconsciousness claims me once more, and I slip into it's arms gratefully.

I wake up in a padded cell. My shoes and valuables had been removed. I glance at my arms and realise I had puncture marks dotting up and down. Needles? I tried NEEDLES? I swallow the lump in my throat and clutch my stomach. I swore I'd never try needles, no heroin for me, no sir. I sink back into the sleep once more, this time purposefully, I didn't want to remember the blurry memories of the night that leapt out at me, wanting to be remembered. Images of needles being passed around, sniffing of some one beside me, the crinkling of foil in my ear, eager faces surrounding me.

The drugs have worn off now, and the police officer can finally get some sense out of me. Name, address, parents'
As he asks me questions my stomach knots in fear. This Is all new to me. How will my parents react? Badly I suspect'

In a small room now, officer by my side, my father shuffles in, round face gazing at me sadly. His hair (what's left of it) is all messy, his clothes obviously pulled on in a rush, his small beer belly straining against the shirt half tucked, half not. All of this should make me angry, like usual, but instead I find myself pitying him, of what he has to put up with (me).
He gazes at me fiercely, looking me in the eye before choosing his words carefully.
'You need help, son.'
I choose mine and answer honestly.
'I know. I'll change.'
But the real question is now, Can I change?





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