Status: done!
Personal Requiem
one and only
The air was dry as the early, omnipotent sun showered its powerful rays throughout New York City. Matthew sat down, his back against the cold brick building in the macabre alleyway, the only relief from the heinous heat. He scratched at his arm, desperate for his next fix. His jet black hair was dripping with perspiration; his chest feeling like all of the oxygen was being sucked out of him every second he took it in. The temperature was at an unbelievable 102 degrees, and what was more unbelievable was the fact that Matthew was still alive.
The obtrusive puncture wounds and track marks were viciously visible as he stood up, preparing his next move inside of his head. He could go to his mother’s apartment in Brooklyn; however, she would not want to see him. At the age of twenty one, Matthew had not been home since age sixteen due to his friends’ persuasion and rebellion. Plus, all she would do is interrogate him, and at his state, that was the last thing Matthew wanted. He could go to his friend, Brian’s house.
Brian had been sober for two years, and being around Matthew secretly made him want to relapse and kick into his old habits. It had been two years since the two ex-best friends had spoken, and that is how both of them wanted to keep it. As far as Matthew knew, the old stealing, funny and clever Brian could have been married and living in California like he always wanted. Brian had always said that California was the place to go if you wanted paramount euphoria. The best kinds of uppers are out there, due to the weather, and if someone wanted to be smart, they would hop the next plane or bus, or even run there. Matthew liked the idea, but not more than giving his money to his dealer and sitting against a dumpster with his dinner, hiding from the authorities.
Matthew heard cars zooming by as his pale figure stepped out of the dark alley way and into the sunlit sidewalk. He took in his surroundings. Manhattan, New York, also known as the very appealing Hell’s Kitchen: between 34th Street and 59th Street, from 8th Avenue to the beautiful, yet foul Hudson River. All of those streets and stops he had been successful in a deal. However, because of failures like him, the bedbugs had to scatter throughout the city instead of staying in one place like Matthew had dreamed of. He could only shake his head in disappointment. Instead of dreaming of being a professional baseball player, he was now living in filth, wearing the same clothes for months on end, and eating only from trash cans. All of his talent, wasted, because a needle in the arm that always left him incapacitated, is much better and fitting than a diploma in a frame on the bedroom wall.
Drugs were not something that was popular in Hell’s Kitchen. Two years ago, in 1966, Matthew had heard that a well known drug addict had moved heroin into the neighborhood, causing a tumult. A man died while using it, not knowing how strong or deadly it was if used improperly. That addict was never seen again. The word on the street for sometime was that he ran off in fear of the police tracking the drugs back to him. Another story was that he was gunned down by the man’s father or brother. No one really knew for sure, but based on the neighborhood and its past, the latter of the two was more convincing.
Matthew heard screaming and laughter from the young kids of the neighborhood. He looked to his left, seeing the owners of an Italian bakery sitting outside in chairs, watching their customers’ children prancing around the flooded street. They were clapping and dancing on the hot Sunday morning, and Matthew was immediately jealous. When he was a child, he would do the same as the children that were dancing right before him. They had the whole world in front of them, and his was going down in flames right before his eyes. He was now the antithesis of his sixteen year old self. He couldn’t even pray anymore. He had lost his faith years ago when he found two weeks’ worth of shelter in a confessional booth, and was kicked out by the beloved monsignor. Knowing that the local churches wouldn’t take in someone in need, like a seventeen year old fraudulent Matthew, who was having alcohol withdrawals, was repulsing to him. After that, he had never even walked past the church without sneering or spitting.
Matthew could hear music playing in the dining area of the bake shop. Some kids were singing along to the “Everything is Everything” song he had heard only once before, while the others found it in opportune time to soak up the cold fire hydrant water as much as they could. He started walking towards the adults that were laughing as they watched their children enjoy the day. The adults looked at him, but could only shake their heads, disapproving at the local boy and the path he had obviously taken. Matthew would not even argue with them; he was a failure, and all he could do was grasp that fact and just hope that the streets would not kill him, as his mother insisted.
In that moment, Matthew walked back towards the alleyway, and leaned his sweaty head against the warm bricks. The sun was past the equinox by now, leaving the bricks heated. His clammy skin moved against the chipped dumpster as the hot sun beat down on his body like a furious drum. Looking up into the yellow orb, Matthew took a deep breath. If he did not get his fix soon, he would surely die. He continued hearing the laughter from the children, knowing that only a few years ago, he was one of those children. Now, Matthew was very comfortable knowing that he was surely to be alone for the rest of his life. All he needed was his fix, and his alleyway; with that came a content twenty one year old addict.
Sliding his limited clothed down the dumpster, Matthew found himself sitting on the hard ground, his hands shaky and his legs weak. His skin was pale and his limbs were thin. His pupils were dilated and his hair was greasy. His fingernails were dirty and his face was bony. Curling up into a ball, Matthew took another deep breath, and sighed as he felt the oxygen leave his delicate body. Today was not the day that he would be lucky. He was fully aware that a lucky day for him was far out of reach, and practically impossible.
The times were changing, and Matthew did not like it. He wished he could be living with his mother in Brooklyn. He wished that he never picked up a drug or an alcoholic beverage, and kept playing baseball. He wished that he and Brian had never fought and kept in contact. The one time in his life, Matthew wished he was one of the children, screaming and laughing in the water in the middle of the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. All he could do now was breath, and shake his head in dismay, knowing he could not redeem himself now. The turbulent ride called his life was only worsening things and always leaving him in quandary. This was the road he chose, and there was no dancing, laughter, or happiness. There was only a dark alleyway, an old dumpster, and the vicious sun that never showed signs of giving up.
Matthew sprawled himself out against the black pavement, trying to get comfortable. His insides were cramping, begging for a relief. His head was throbbing from the city noise and the lack of any kind of nutrients in his system. His mouth was dry and the impending hunger was attacking his stomach each second. Putting his hands behind his head, Matthew looked between the mammoth buildings, spotting the slit of blue sky that peaked between the draping clothes lines. Opening his mouth, he released the last impromptu words his mouth would ever utter; his own personal requiem.
“You’ve killed me. I’m coming.”
The obtrusive puncture wounds and track marks were viciously visible as he stood up, preparing his next move inside of his head. He could go to his mother’s apartment in Brooklyn; however, she would not want to see him. At the age of twenty one, Matthew had not been home since age sixteen due to his friends’ persuasion and rebellion. Plus, all she would do is interrogate him, and at his state, that was the last thing Matthew wanted. He could go to his friend, Brian’s house.
Brian had been sober for two years, and being around Matthew secretly made him want to relapse and kick into his old habits. It had been two years since the two ex-best friends had spoken, and that is how both of them wanted to keep it. As far as Matthew knew, the old stealing, funny and clever Brian could have been married and living in California like he always wanted. Brian had always said that California was the place to go if you wanted paramount euphoria. The best kinds of uppers are out there, due to the weather, and if someone wanted to be smart, they would hop the next plane or bus, or even run there. Matthew liked the idea, but not more than giving his money to his dealer and sitting against a dumpster with his dinner, hiding from the authorities.
Matthew heard cars zooming by as his pale figure stepped out of the dark alley way and into the sunlit sidewalk. He took in his surroundings. Manhattan, New York, also known as the very appealing Hell’s Kitchen: between 34th Street and 59th Street, from 8th Avenue to the beautiful, yet foul Hudson River. All of those streets and stops he had been successful in a deal. However, because of failures like him, the bedbugs had to scatter throughout the city instead of staying in one place like Matthew had dreamed of. He could only shake his head in disappointment. Instead of dreaming of being a professional baseball player, he was now living in filth, wearing the same clothes for months on end, and eating only from trash cans. All of his talent, wasted, because a needle in the arm that always left him incapacitated, is much better and fitting than a diploma in a frame on the bedroom wall.
Drugs were not something that was popular in Hell’s Kitchen. Two years ago, in 1966, Matthew had heard that a well known drug addict had moved heroin into the neighborhood, causing a tumult. A man died while using it, not knowing how strong or deadly it was if used improperly. That addict was never seen again. The word on the street for sometime was that he ran off in fear of the police tracking the drugs back to him. Another story was that he was gunned down by the man’s father or brother. No one really knew for sure, but based on the neighborhood and its past, the latter of the two was more convincing.
Matthew heard screaming and laughter from the young kids of the neighborhood. He looked to his left, seeing the owners of an Italian bakery sitting outside in chairs, watching their customers’ children prancing around the flooded street. They were clapping and dancing on the hot Sunday morning, and Matthew was immediately jealous. When he was a child, he would do the same as the children that were dancing right before him. They had the whole world in front of them, and his was going down in flames right before his eyes. He was now the antithesis of his sixteen year old self. He couldn’t even pray anymore. He had lost his faith years ago when he found two weeks’ worth of shelter in a confessional booth, and was kicked out by the beloved monsignor. Knowing that the local churches wouldn’t take in someone in need, like a seventeen year old fraudulent Matthew, who was having alcohol withdrawals, was repulsing to him. After that, he had never even walked past the church without sneering or spitting.
Matthew could hear music playing in the dining area of the bake shop. Some kids were singing along to the “Everything is Everything” song he had heard only once before, while the others found it in opportune time to soak up the cold fire hydrant water as much as they could. He started walking towards the adults that were laughing as they watched their children enjoy the day. The adults looked at him, but could only shake their heads, disapproving at the local boy and the path he had obviously taken. Matthew would not even argue with them; he was a failure, and all he could do was grasp that fact and just hope that the streets would not kill him, as his mother insisted.
In that moment, Matthew walked back towards the alleyway, and leaned his sweaty head against the warm bricks. The sun was past the equinox by now, leaving the bricks heated. His clammy skin moved against the chipped dumpster as the hot sun beat down on his body like a furious drum. Looking up into the yellow orb, Matthew took a deep breath. If he did not get his fix soon, he would surely die. He continued hearing the laughter from the children, knowing that only a few years ago, he was one of those children. Now, Matthew was very comfortable knowing that he was surely to be alone for the rest of his life. All he needed was his fix, and his alleyway; with that came a content twenty one year old addict.
Sliding his limited clothed down the dumpster, Matthew found himself sitting on the hard ground, his hands shaky and his legs weak. His skin was pale and his limbs were thin. His pupils were dilated and his hair was greasy. His fingernails were dirty and his face was bony. Curling up into a ball, Matthew took another deep breath, and sighed as he felt the oxygen leave his delicate body. Today was not the day that he would be lucky. He was fully aware that a lucky day for him was far out of reach, and practically impossible.
The times were changing, and Matthew did not like it. He wished he could be living with his mother in Brooklyn. He wished that he never picked up a drug or an alcoholic beverage, and kept playing baseball. He wished that he and Brian had never fought and kept in contact. The one time in his life, Matthew wished he was one of the children, screaming and laughing in the water in the middle of the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. All he could do now was breath, and shake his head in dismay, knowing he could not redeem himself now. The turbulent ride called his life was only worsening things and always leaving him in quandary. This was the road he chose, and there was no dancing, laughter, or happiness. There was only a dark alleyway, an old dumpster, and the vicious sun that never showed signs of giving up.
Matthew sprawled himself out against the black pavement, trying to get comfortable. His insides were cramping, begging for a relief. His head was throbbing from the city noise and the lack of any kind of nutrients in his system. His mouth was dry and the impending hunger was attacking his stomach each second. Putting his hands behind his head, Matthew looked between the mammoth buildings, spotting the slit of blue sky that peaked between the draping clothes lines. Opening his mouth, he released the last impromptu words his mouth would ever utter; his own personal requiem.
“You’ve killed me. I’m coming.”
♠ ♠ ♠
hope you liked it :)