story of a nameless junkie

today was a good day for him and he would soon be rewarded. As he sat down on his mattress in his dirty bare apartment room he couldn't help but reminisce on his decay in life after stumbling upon his ravished red journal, all that had been through his long downward spiral of mental, physical, and emotional decay with him. As he placed his hand on the cover a feeling engulfed his body like a blanket it was an emotionless feel denying sadness and happiness. The moment was suddenly disintegrated by the ring off his phone, he picked it up knowing exactly who it was and why they called within a minute of picking up the phone he was already leaving his cold lonely home. As he waited for the elevator he counted the money he had in his back pocket. It was the right amount exactly, he had done a good job.
Earlier that day this back pocket was empty but that would never do. He knew he would have to think hard about how to fill it. The idea came to him ten minutes later and five minutes later it was in action. Without a second thought he proceeded to the street level the streets of new york which were busy this time of day filled with people going to work and enjoying life. He went to the subway station below finding fifty five cents on the payphone case and buying a subway ticket. As he was in the crowd on the subway he knew the bump was around this corner angling his body to the right position. His prediction was right he knew what he was doing as the train dipped and the crowed jerked he got his hand on a wallet of a gentle man in a suit he would only identify by the names on his credit cards and the picture on his license. He went back to street level and walked two miles back to his apartment as no loose change could be found for a return trip on the subway. He finally arrived at his building ,went up thirteen levels and returned to the third room on the left. It was the summary of what life had become for him. He opened the wallet for the first time oh he had hit the jackpot sixty eight dollars and three credit cards had brought him to where he was now.
The elevator took him to where he was an hour earlier except instead of the subway station he headed two blocks to the right and went into a run down apartment making his look liveable. He went two stories up and seven rooms to the right he knocked three times on the door in a beat he was so used to. A corpse figure opened the door the interaction would go no further than opening the door how long the small chain would allow. Without words sixty eight dollars were presented to the destroyed man and in exchange a small post it note sized paper folded was given to him.
Thirty minutes later he was waiting for the the elevator. The bing sound alerted him he took two steps forward and pushed the number thirteen the doors slid closed and shortly re-opened he arrived and went three doors to the left. Entering his shitty apartment he proceeded to lock the door and sit on his mattress grabbing a metal bottle cap and a dirty syringe from beside his filthy ash tray. He removed the paper from his back pocket and unfolded it and looking at the contents in a state of mind of complete success and accomplishment he poured the golden brown content in the bottle cap which was now filled with a little bit of water. He leaned over to grab a toothpick and a match, striking the match he proceeded to cook the contents from under the cap while he used the utmost concentration to mix it with his teeth that were biting onto the toothpick. It was done he was ready grabbing the syringe filled with dried blood and the tiniest remains of past times he proceeded to fill the syringe with the cooked golden water and just as quickly as he had filled up the needle it was in a vein in his boney arm circulating through the bloodstream of this helpless man. He had worked hard for this, it was his time to enjoy life without emotion while enjoying it with complete euphoria and perfection. He was in a unconscious state of mind yet this was the greatest feeling his life had known but also the worst he was on top of the world but at the same time rejected and at the bottom of it. Time elapsed and he was sitting on his dirty mattress with his journal in his hands wondering what to write. He placed his hand on the cover of this notebook that followed him around through the best and worst times of his raging 6 year addiction in a sense it was his best friend. He wanted to write like he always did and treat his
friend right he opened the first page to stare at blankness the entire journal was blank. Sinking further into his mind of what to write the phone rang. He picked up. He knew the situation hanging the phone up he began to think he scrambled for fifty five cents and left the shithole he called home.





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