New Jersey

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Lost in the world not knowing or remembering.

Submitted: January 30, 2008

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Submitted: January 30, 2008



It all started on the streets of New Jersey, before I found comfort in the kill.

Cold, alone, wet… I opened my eyes, I am in the same place I have always been, nothing has changed. Thinking back I try to remember who I am only to realize that I never really knew. It wasn’t amnesia, it was just the oft fought sensation of desperation that filled my mind, the longing to know the purpose, the reason behind these dreams…these visions. It clouded my sleep, a haze of death and destruction, maybe an end of days, was it real or was I just crazy, hell it didn’t really matter, I knew one way or another it would lead me to my death.

For as long as I can remember I have been wandering the streets, my only motivation was to stay awake, anything to prevent the horrific visions. I would find myself panhandling on a corner, not to eat, not so that I could survive, but so that I could buy a cup of coffee or one of the thousands of different mind numbing energy drinks that clogged refrigerated shelves in corner stores and bodegas. Help would be offered to me often in a kind word or an offer from a passer by, perhaps an invitation to a homeless shelter, but I would turn it away sometimes cruelly or violently. The soft cots of a shelter or even the cold steel of a holding cell were the furthest thing from help. Any kind of comfort or familiarity would bring me the possibility of sleep, the wonderful solace that I wished for so hard but could not except. The price was too high, even falling asleep for a half an hour would leave my mind so ravaged that I couldn’t even walk. I would either lay motionless for hours, until someone would help me, they would call an ambulance or get me to an emergency room. Hospitals where the worst, their regimented hours, their slow dripping drugs pumped into your body, even the strongest of wills could not stave off slumber under these conditions. The other possibility is that I would wake up in an almost homicidal rage, lashing out at any living creature I could get my hands on. This would of course lead to the hell on earth that I would at all costs avoid, even at the slight of taking my own life, an asylum.

One time, I awoke, my blood soaked mind distorting my vision, I attacked and seriously injured a young girl. The courts said that I needed “Permanent psychological assistance”, I was fifteen at the time. I would soon discover that this “assistance” was actually torture. I was strapped to a bed, the doctors and nurses would attempt to comfort me by telling me “don’t worry, we can help you rest” or “everything will be better when you sleep”. Little did they know that the moment they stuck that needle into my flesh I would be driven further into the depths of madness. These where dark times for me, I spent days at a time staring at a plain white ceiling trying to stay awake, my mind so numb from the hours of sleep forced upon me that I lost all concept of time. Was it day or night, what month was it, I even began to doubt myself. I brought into question everything that I believed, was I really here or was it just the delusional fantasy of a madman. I got no answers, no comforting solutions, only pain. Years past by, until during an evaluation I jumped out a window and ran. Somehow I was able to escape, somehow I had found my way back to the streets of the city that never sleeps, or at least that’s what I hoped it was.

Most of you probably think I’m crazy, well don’t worry I share the sentiment, others may question how I got here. How in ten years I went from a kid strapped to an asylum bed to a man walking the streets hunting vampires and staying awake at all costs. Well that is a story for another day. Ask me sometime and if I am drunk enough or I’m just looking for an excuse to stay awake for five minutes maybe I will tell you the tale of my baptism on the streets.

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