Short+Story

= =  **|C|r|A|n|K!| **  I’m sitting in a back alley, and as I take my first puff I start to feel different already, but it’s always like that, at least in my experience. I can hear someone coming; I blow out the smoke and quickly pocket my pipe.  “What are you doing back here” said the man.  “Nothing I was jus-” something isn’t right, my voice is lost.  “Well, speak up!” said the stranger. Out of desperation my lighter slid from my clammy hands, and the strangers face turned sour. “Explain yourself!” he roared. I’m started to feel a little bit more frantic, and just a s I’m about to speak, my head starts to feel dizzy, somehow my balance is lost, and there’s this constant this sharp ringing sound. It feels liking I’m drifting into space, something is just not right.

 All around me people are screaming, bellowing out at each other with questions like “WHATS GOING ON HERE” and “TAKE HIM TO EMERGENCY ROOM 4”. I try to turn my head to see what was happening but my necks constricted. I feel as if the days are getting shorter and as if the night is creeping up on me. That drifting feeling I had felt before, it’s crawling up on me. It’s in the back of my head, but the more I think about it the more I can feel its presence. It has arrived and I’m losing my mind. It feels like I’m being torn to shreds, from the inside out. The pain is disturbing, and because of that I have no energy, I’m motionless, static, stationary use whatever words you will, but I’m as useless as a stapler without staples.

 The walls are white there’s someone standing over me, but who can it be, I’ve got no legitimate friends or family. Well, I do, but I couldn’t get their attention even if I had banged them over their head with a frying pan. My eyes are starting to adjust to this horrendous bright light, and I can clearly make out a face. There’s a doctor standing over me, trying to grasp my attention. “Hello, can you hear me?” said the doctor. “Yes, I can.” I replied. I ask the doctor ,“Where am I?” “You sir, are in a hospital” He replied in a rather indecorous way. “What am I doing here?” <span style="font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Well, from what I read here, you had overdosed on Methamphetamines.” <span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Thinking to myself, oh boy this is awkward. I’ve got to change the subject, QUICK! <span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“So how’s it like being a doctor” I stubbornly ask. <span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Don’t try and change the subject; Listen to me, and listen well. Lad you’ve got a problem, one that’s doing you so much harm you can’t even imagine. Get help, get clean, stop being nobody, and become somebody. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and doing what you’re doing now is going to get you nowhere, you hear me? Get help. That is all I have to say.” <span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">The doctor turned around and left, leaving me in the abyss of my mind to ponder the words he had just so vibrantly spoken to me. In a way, I know he’s right, but in my twisted and vile mind I also know that I need it. It’s my release valve, my way out from this cruel world called reality, but until now I haven’t even thought about it; What if I want back in?

<span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">After being in the hospital for 4 days, I’m finally free from that wretched hospital. It felt like elementary school all over again. As I was collecting my stuff, the same doctor, who made me consider what I shall do with my future, came up to me and handed me a card with a phone number on it. As I was going to ask him what it was, he simply turned around and walked away. I stared at the card for a couple of minutes, in confusion, until the lady at the counter told me to get out of the way because people were waiting in line. She answered a phone call, but before I left, I asked “Where are the nearest phone booths”. She pointed her finger toward the mini cafeteria they had there. There was a huge sign that said “Payphones”, so I walk over there, and there was one that was not being used. I walked up to it and slide in a few quarters; It tells me that its long distance and I would have to pay more so I drop in my last couple quarters. The phone starts to ring, and a voice message is being played. <span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"> It said, “Hello, you have reached the Drug abuse and Correctional offices of Brooklyn. If you know someone that abuses drugs and would like to refer them to one of our counsellors press one. If you are abusing drugs and would like to talk to one of our immediate response personal press two…” <span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">The raspy voice in the message was chilling, it sounded like and old man that hadn’t had anything to drink for ages! Even though the message went on, I didn’t want to waste time, or hear that man’s voice again, so I frantically pressed two. I was like a little kid on Christmas Eve, too anxious to sleep. Once again, the phone rings, but the message is different this time: <span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"> “Hi, you have reached the St James Drug Abuse and Correction house, if you’re hearing this message that means you’ve probably tried to contact the Drug abuse and Correctional offices of Brooklyn. I find that conversations over the phone about matters like this are not appropriate, as if you were right in front of me. So, please, if you would like to see me, come visit me at Fort Street. My office is right near the Giant Tiger and Mahdi-temple.” <span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">I knew exactly where that Correctional institute was. I rode the bus right past it every morning,you know, when I had a real life. I grab my stuff and head for the door, if I jog there I can make it by nightfall.

I made my way to the front door, gasping for air, and pushed it open. I could see that this building was well maintained because the couches were leather, new velvet curtains, and waxed floor. I walked up the receptionist and said who I was, and why I was here. She said that she would call someone to see me. The elevator made a "ding" sound, and out walked a man dressed in a white lab coat, and clipboard. After, introducing myself and speaking with him he motioned me to follow him. We rode the elevator the third floor.

For the next three months, I lived on the third floor of that office building, I managed to come out clean. While I was recovering, I spent time watching the news, and reading the newspaper. I remember something about how some kids found a fountain that turns people young again. I didn't pay too much attention as I thought it was a myth, but the first day I was out I went to a newsstand and read about it. Apparently, if you consume the liquid from this ancient fountain there is a chance you can become young again. The liquid itself was being sold everywhere. Everyone who wanted to be young again took it, not knowing the consequences.

I had to get my hands on some of this mysterious potion. I could live my life again, make new friends, and maybe not be a total screw-up. I sprinted to the Giant Tiger next door, and I could see a full isle lined with small liquid valves. I went and grabbed a few; Read the lable and said "One vile for 5 years of you're life". I grabbed two, so I could be 15 again. I ran outside and gulped them down. My hands and feet appeared to be smaller, but I couldn't be sure. I went up to a stranger and said "How old do I look?" All he replied with was "Scram you little punk!" I guess it worked.

I walked to the street with a huge smile on my face, and called a taxi over. I got in, and the wretched smell hit me. Don't they clean this things once in a while? He said "Where are you headed?" I replied with " 35 Birch Grove." I asked the taxi man "So is everyone taking the new fountain of youth liquid?" He answered "Almost everyone is, it's almost like a disease. Everyone is at least 5 years younger." I couldn't think of anything to say so I just said "I see."

He pulled up into the driveway, onto which I had once called home. After handing him what I owed him, I got out, and knocked on the door. No one came, I knocked louder. I could hear someone walking down the creaky stairs. It was my mom,she opened the door. She looked a lot younger then the last time I saw her, I guess she had also drank from the fountain. She told me to come in, and sit because we had to "talk". I started talking to her, like we used to, about what has happened, how I've changed. We talked for a while, and once we got tired, we got ready for bed. My parents in their room, me in the room I had left so long ago. Surprisingly, my belongings were still in the way I left them. I knew that this time, I wouldn't screw my life up again.

<span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria,serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">By Razvan Bezna