My Burnt Spoon

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young man details his addiction to heroin.

Submitted: August 22, 2013

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Submitted: August 22, 2013



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I had just gotten high on what little stuff I had managed to scrape out from under my nails, but I was already coming down. It was like I could feel my eyes growing darker as sleep threatened to envelop me. My blackened dinner spoon had already dried underneath my bed, useless at this point, since I was out of shit. Suddenly, the threat of sleep became reality, and soon I was dreaming of balloons filled with more for me to inject.

I awoke, completely unrested, several hours later. I felt as if I was being bitten everywhere by tiny insects. I started scratching, desperate to remove the itchiness. Unsoothed, I rose from the floor where I had slept, (albeit a little shakily,) and headed to my bathroom to take a hot shower, hoping that might help. Once in, I was able to enjoy the heat of the water for maybe two minutes before I became unbearably cold. I knew the water temperature hadn't changed, I just needed more speed. I laid down on my shower floor and curled into a ball, shivering, as if this would help warm me up.

Sometimes I wish I had never tried heroin. Sometimes. But once I get more, tie off, and load up my veins, I'm in fucking heaven. I've tried other drugs before. I'd taken ecstasy at a party once, smoked weed regularly throughout high school before I graduated six years ago, and even ate some shrooms. I enjoyed all of those, but I'd never felt as if I'd truly needed more. They were more like luxuries. But the first time I tried smack, I knew that I could never give it up. The feeling was bliss. Complete and utter bliss. I feel enlightened when I'm high. Like I understand who I truly am, who we all truly are. Plus the feeling it gives my body! It feels like an orgasm that can last up to hours at a time!

I snap to my senses, after having been lost in thought and unpleasant feelings. There was a knock at my door. I knew who it was, and I had been expecting him. I got out of the shower as quickly as I could, wrapped a towel around my waist, and flung open the door to my apartment. In walked an Asian man I still didn't know the name of, despite having many interactions like this over the last few months. He came in, but he didn't speak my language. I simply held out of hand and paid him with everything I had and promised (signed) as best I could that I would pay him the rest next time.

He reached into the back of his pants and proceeded to pull a dirty blue balloon out of his ass. Disgusting, yes, but it's the best way to hide illicit drugs, and I don't give a fuck because of what's inside the balloon. I nodded my head, thanking him repeatedly, and he left. I dumped all the rocks out of the balloon and into a pill bottle, where I actually stash my shit, and threw the balloon away. I got my burnt spoon out from underneath the bed, and grabbed my lighter, syringe, and tourniquet.

I boiled some water to sterilize the needle with, and tied off my arm. Then I took the best looking rock out of the bottle and put it in my spoon. Once the needle was sterilized enough, I lit my lighter under the spoon, waiting. The rock swelled up, starting to leak slightly. I stabbed into it with the syringe and pulled out the precious liquid. Quickly, I stuck it in my vein, injected, and took off the tourniquet.

It all rushed in on me at once. Finally content, I sighed deeply, smiling, awaiting the good feelings. I felt so fucking good. That's the only way to describe it to someone who's never tried smack. Good. I breathed deep to sigh again, with my eyes closed. I opened my mouth to exhale, and a huge torrent of vomit came out.

"Shit. That's not supposed to happen.." I thought to myself. I kind of felt like I was watching it happen. I kept throwing up, and eventually ended up on my back. I couldn't move, and the vomit just kept coming and coming, but I wasn't able to turn my head to expel it, so it kept rushing down my throat. I guess I drowned in it.

"Well, sir, that's about it. That's the story of my death," I say. The Grim Reaper looks me in the eyes, as he has been the whole time I was telling him the story, and he grins a creepy skull grin.

"Very well. Are you prepared to go?" he asks.

"I suppose so," I respond, "It's not like I really had any reason to live, besides to do more H." Again, he grins at me, and nods. He holds his arm out, and a portal appears. I can smell many things coming from it. One of them I catch as a rock boiling on a spoon. I smile and walk through to the other side, where fire, torture, and the tantalizing punishment of having heroin just out of reach awaits me.

© Copyright 2017 SereneGaldr. All rights reserved.

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