Heroin and Dust

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The Story of A Man, A House, And a Silver Box

Submitted: June 09, 2014

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Submitted: June 09, 2014




The gig was over, guitars placed back in their cases, and all the member of the band had left, except for one. The man was staring at the stage, a blank lifeless stare into the black behind the dirty stage were the dust had yet to settle. I gruff voice rang from behind "thanks for the performance, but we have to lock up". The man turned and walked right by the owner, as though he hadn't heard him. Out into the street he walked, figures walk past him from the void ahead. They all had the same look on there face and the same light in their eyes, they looked as though they wanted something, needed something that belong to someone other then themselves. Time seemed Slow, Blurry, Like syrup almost.  Suddenly!, a spotlight shown down from the cloudy sky of the building and shown right on a small door in front of the man. No one seemed to notice the white light at all, they walked by without so much as a glance. The man walked up to the door and reached out to touch the cold metal of the doorknob. A long and drawn out screech rang out into the building as he swung open the door and walked inside. The moment he touched the rug at the foot of the door, dust flew up into the ceiling, flying up and up and up as though to touch the very clouds above it. The man was not scared, for he had been in the place before, many many times. He gently took of his heavy trench coat and let it drop onto the brown wood of the coat rack by the door. He walked up the creaky steps into the oblivion of the upstairs rooms. Suddenly a load bang shot through the silence, someone had fallen from a bed. A screaming laugh followed, like a witches laugh, high pitched and piercing. The man walked into the hallway of the upstairs, all lights were off down the wooden hallway, expect for one, the one inside the last door on the right, where the loud sounds of people were becoming more clear. The old door frame screeched as it opened reveling, nothing short of the exemplification of hell. The floor was littered medical wrappers and bent spoons. used syringes lay on the blackout window sill along with rubber tubs and lighters. The room had particles all through out the air, like light flakes of snow on winters first days. Their was a fan on the ceiling with a single bulb in the socket, I shown a dim glow through out the hole room showing most of its secrets. A man lay on a bed sideways with mouth opening and closing slowly, And a small boy lay on the ground, face down into the floor. Two women lay in the conner, one completely naked expect for a book that lay across her middle, The other had her back to the wall and was franticly babbling about thing the Man nor anyone else could understand. But in the back of the room in the closet was were the man was heading. He walked through the wasteland of the room, bumping into one of the woman laying on the floor, Her body shuck when The Mans shoe made contact with her naked skin. She Groaned and rolled over, going deeper into her narcotic fueled dreams. He reached the place he had been walking towards since this dark journey began.  He opened the two wooden slide doors into the closet and looked down. Their on the ground lay a silver box and a note that lay across the top. It read "To James" in large black letters.The Man crouched into the closet and closed the door behind him, shutting out the small amount of light their was.

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