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Biography of a Drug [Short story by Lucy Kisina]
- I want to be alone, I say.
- Loneliness is not the answer.
I open my eyes. Why the absurd assumptions? I didn’t say I want to be lonely. I said I want to be alone. And since when am I looking for an answer?
I get up and walk outside. There is a secret barrier between the indoor and the outdoor world. Even if you only go as far as your own porch, you still feel the absence of walls around you. Loneliness? It’s nothing more than the absence of people.
I take out a cigarette and lean over on the rails. My head spins a little and I grip tighter to the rails to keep my balance. The sky is full of stars tonight. I never liked the stars. They’re cold, tiny, and overvalued. And most importantly, they’re too far away. I roll my cigarette between my fingers and feel it getting thinner as the tobacco falls out of the tip. I watch the tiny leaves float down off my patio and don’t stop until it’s all gone. Then, I toss the useless thing aside. I got my nicotine, and so I go back inside.
I walk into the empty room. Emptiness is not scary. It’s just the absence of matter. How can you be afraid of something that isn’t there? Things seem so ridicules sometimes, so I start laughing. I laugh at how simple things can be when you allow them to be so. But then my head feels all light again and so I make myself stop.
But I guess being happy isn’t allowed, cause I feel real dizzy now, so I decide it’s better if I sit down. Across the room, on the far wall, my shadow refuses to sit down as well. I guess it isn’t light-headed, since it’s a shadow, but for some reason it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know why, but I feel like it shouldn’t be standing while I’m sitting and that there is something wrong.
I want to walk over there and do something about it, but my body feels like it’s full of water and is weighing me down. But then I think about that and realize that we are made out of mostly water, so there really shouldn’t be a problem. I try to move, but my body is too heavy for my muscles. Maybe it’s not the water. Maybe my blood is heavy and won’t let me move.
So I reach over to the table and pick up a knife. My blood seems fine. It’s light and salty, and very very red. I shake off a drop and it falls down to the floor. I think I hear it splashing against the ground. I know that’s silly because it’s such a tiny sound, but it’s really quiet in the room and I got a real sharp ear.
My shadow is acting up again. It’s tired of standing, I guess, so it starts to move across the room towards me. I think it might just be doing it out of spite. Mocking me, since I can’t move. It starts to get real close, but things are also kind of blurry all of the sudden. My vision, - it tricks me sometimes.
There is something pressing against my chest and it’s getting hard to breath. Air is really important, and its good that I remember that, so I try to get myself to breath heavier. I’m also getting really cold but in a hot way, so I’m trying to figure out how to make myself comfortable. And now I’m getting really irritated because there are too many problems arising at the same time, and I’m not generally all that great at solving problems.
I feel a little tingle starting up somewhere under my breast and my forehead gets sweaty. I see it coming. Like a giant waive that you spot too late and realize that you will never make it to the shore. There’s nowhere to hide and it crushes down onto me. I’m dragged under by a waive of fear, and I hear a crack when my heart begins to break from the pain. I think I moan or gasp or make some kind of noise, but I’m not as good with loud sounds. I think I see something move from the corner of my eye, and so I quickly shut them.
I have this dream that I often see. That I’m in a really dusky room, and ahead of me, there is an old fashion looking table with a mirror on it. There are two candles on both sides of the mirror and they are the only sources of light in the room. I walk towards it and I know that I have to look into that mirror and see my reflection. Only the mirror is covered by a thick layer of dust, and I have to wipe it clean to look at myself. I walk up to it, but realize that I can’t get myself to wipe off the mirror and look into it. I don’t know what’s stopping me but I do know that nothing could be worse.
- You’ll be ok.
I open my eyes.
The room is empty.
I shrug my shoulders. Emptiness, - it’s just the absence of something.
- Why would I want to be ok? I ask. – Isn’t “ok” the most boring thing you can be? Isn’t “ok” just a lack of any emotion?
I get no answer back so I get up and pour myself a drink. I walk over to the window and press my face up to the cold glass. It instantly fogs up from my breath, so I use my finger to draw a liver. People always draw hearts on foggy windows, so when I get the chance I make up for the other body organs.
There is an annoying humming sound breaking the silence and I shake my head to make it stop. The room turns upside down for a second, but the noise is still there.
The glass reminds me of my dusty mirror, so I turn around. My heart is pounding against my chest really hard and I’m afraid it might break my ribs. I drink some more to calm it down. I wonder if people realize that toasting is just making up an excuse to drink. I look for my shadow to raise a toast with it, and I find it sitting in my spot. It looks very tired and I think I see it crying. I drink to its happiness, but it doesn’t seem to help.
- You’ll be ok, - I say.
But it doesn’t want to listen to me.
I’m really confused and not so sure I want to be alone anymore. So I finish my drink. My heart decides to play a racing game with me and starts beating so fast that it seems like its going in a single continuous rhythm. The lights from the lamp are heating up the room and I feel like I’m burning. I try to get to the switch and turn them off, but first I make myself another drink. To calm down a little.
My shadow is at the window now, drawing something on the glass. I suddenly feel the dead silence of the room lowering down on me. There is no peace or wisdom in silence. It’s all lies. Silence, - it’s just the absence of noise. I begin to hum a song to myself, and it sounds great. I don’t remember any of the words, and to tell you the truth, I don’t remember the tune either. But it helps me not to hear the sound of my heart, trying to get free from my body.
It’s trying so hard to break free that I almost begin feeling sorry for it. I guess it doesn’t like being trapped in my body. Maybe I should just let it go. It’s getting too hot in the room and I don’t like how the air looks, so I make my way to that switch and hit it.
It took a lot of strength to do that and I collapse with victory of achieving the darkness. My heart refuses to accept this and pounds harder. The ceiling seems a lot further when you’re laying on the floor. I reach for the bottle but it’s empty.
For a second, I think I hear a whisper. A muffled voice saying “I want to be alone”. But just for a second, and then my heart takes up the race again. “Why would you want to be alone?” – I think. - Loneliness is not the answer.
The darkness floats around me but doesn’t seem to touch my body. I call it to me, gently. I want it to take me in. But I just lay there, cold, listening to my heart. I know that there’s something I have to do, and so I close my eyes.
I walk up to it slowly and kneel before it. I am alone this time. Just me and the mirror. And my own fear, - the only thing ever stopping me from looking at my reflection, - is now far away, drowned within my body. I stare at its ugly, gray surface. At the formless features of a face glowing behind it. I stretch out my hand and run my fingers across the dusty surface.
My eyes are wide open and I’m staring at the ceiling. I know that in no dream will I ever see that room again. Because it only takes one time to stretch out your hand, and find out that there is no dust on the surface of that mirror; that the gray shadows, reflected in it, is the world, and that the vague silhouette staring back at me, is the only true reflection of my own face.
I look at the darkness and it begins to lower down onto me. Over by the table, I hear a glass clinging. My shadow is trying to make itself a drink. I try to say that the bottle is empty, but the sound of the pouring liquid silences me. What difference does it make? It all ends here.
My heart finally gives up the race and stops beating. The darkness reaches my body and lowers down upon it. I’m not afraid of the darkness. The darkness, - it’s nothing more than the absence of light.
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written by drugsarebadmkay on November 06, 2007
drugs are boring. try using your brain instead of turning it off. reality is much more interesting than the inside of your head. trust me, I've been there and I know.