Status: Finished
Fix It
One.
He sits on his bed, pen and paper in hand, tapping his chin. Thinking, lost in though. He needs to write this, he needs to find a way to make it sound good or decent at least, before the band practice. He was already on the verge of being kicked out because of his little “problems” so to speak, but he wasn’t the only one who had problems. They all had problems, that was why they were a band that was why they were together because they had found a common ground, not only in their music, but in their own problems as well. He was on the verge of being kicked out, and he was the one who had brought the entire goddamn band together! He was the one who had looked for a drummer that was suitable, he was the one who had scouted tirelessly for a guitarist that had the sound he was looking for and he had been the one to make the final decision on the singer that had joined the band. It had all been him, he was the genius of the band, he was the one that had brought them together, the one that had written the lyrics without any help from any of them! He was the reason that they were famous, he had written the music, he had written the lyrics, he had written it all.
He tapped his pen, frustrated on his leg which was donned in black leather pants before he absent mindedly scratched his head before brushing the black hair out of his eyes and focusing back on the paper. You need to focus on this; you need to get this done. Now. He thought to himself firmly as he scribbled in the corner, making sure the pen actually did work. You also need a fix, and badly at that.The little voice in his head said, reminding him as he jerked his head upwards. He was sitting in his filthy bedroom in his filthy house wearing clothes that he had worn all week. Or had he worm them longer than that? He couldn’t remember, either way he wasn’t going to focus on small details; he was going to get this done. He was going to write something and then get high because if he was high he wasn’t going to get anything done. It was a reward for him, a reward for getting something done. A reward that he would get anyways because he needed it, he needed the drug so badly. Just do it, get a fix out of your shoe and do it, it’ll clear your mind and then you’ll be able to write a song. Not just a song either, you’ll be able to write a wonderful song, one that will bring the album to number one. The voice inside his head promised.
“One hit, I guess that might do me some good.” The man spoke slowly, as if he was savouring every word, thinking it through. His husky voice seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room. The record that had been playing had run out hours ago but he hadn’t bothered to get up and change it, or replay it. He didn’t care it was background music, like everything else in the world; it was all in the background and he was the center of attention. “One hit, that would do me some good.” He said again as if he was trying to convince himself that it would be a good idea. He didn’t need convincing to shoot up and let the wonderful drug run through his veins, but he wasn’t addicted. He didn’t have a drug problem, he was fine, he just liked the drug, it didn’t mean he was addicted, or that he needed it, he just liked it. He sat on the bed and tapped the paper with his pen before yawning and dropping the pen and putting the paper down beside him and then scratching his forehead before letting his hand fall to his side. His fingers were starting to twitch, he really was going to need a hit soon....
He was sitting cross legged on his bed, like he normally did when he was writing, or attempting to write a song or music or anything really. His clothes were filthy dirty, and they were beginning to stink, but he never took notice of it. If he was to wash them they would simply get dirty again it was a waste of time, a rather huge waste of time at that. His fingers were now starting to twitch more than they normally did. He was going to need a fix very soon or risk.... or risk going through withdrawal of it, because he was so attached to the precious drug, it was like his lifeline, without it he was nothing.
His calloused fingers slipped down to his leather boots as he pulled the laces and loosened them, working quickly to get his boot off. That’s where the treasure was hidden, that’s where the drug was hidden the thing that would calm and sooth him. He pulled the little baggy out of his shoe, the little baggy that contained his precious drug and slid himself closer to the night table pulling the drawer open slowly and glancing around the room as if he was expecting someone to appear out of no-where and watch what he was doing. He pulled out the needle as well as the candle and spoon and retrieved the lighter from his pocket holding it in his right hand and flicking his thumb along the roller and watching as the tiny flame appeared, with his other hand he picked up the candle and slowly put the flame to the wick watching as it lit. It was a puny flame but it would work, once it got hot enough. He put the spoon down on the top of the night table which was made of a dark chocolate colored wood. He left the little baggy on his bed with the needle as he got up then picked the needle up before he left the room.
He needed water, just a little bit of water and then things would be perfect. His feet moved sluggishly as if they didn’t want to co-operate with him, like they didn’t agree with what he was going to do. He stepped over the pile of broken glass that was on his floor. He eyed it suspiciously, he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there, or what it had been before. His house was a mess, almost as filthy as the clothes that he was dressed in. He crinkled his nose, he could smell vomit he went into the bathroom and turned the tap on, waiting a few moments before putting the tip of the needle under the tap and taking in a few drops of water. That was all he needed. He shut off the tap and shut the lights off before making his way back to his room, carefully avoiding the pile of shattered glass on his floor. He shut his bedroom door behind him, he wanted to be completely alone when he did this, and he wanted to be alone in his state of bliss.
He carefully picked up the spoon and the little baggy of heroin as he set the needle down gently next to the candle, not close enough to feel the heat but close enough so that it was easily within reach. Tipping the bag over he slowly put a touch of the drug onto the spoon before redoing the bag again and putting it into his boot. He would be able to find it there later, that was somewhere that it would come to no harm. He picked up the needle and squirted the water over top of the brown chunks then slowly moving the spoon over the little flame. It wouldn’t take long for this to heat up, not with the amount that he had put into the spoon. He placed the needle on the night table carefully and focused back on the drug watching it intently as the brown chunks began to dissolve, it wouldn’t take long at all before he could shoot up. Not long at all, he shrugged off his heavy jacket that he was wearing revealing the elastic that was already tight around his bicep. He kept a close eye on the drug that was boiling away, or almost boiling away because he wouldn’t let it boil.
He waited extremely impatiently for another thirty seconds or so though it felt like hours. He had waited too long and now was in dire need of a fix, he didn't do this often, which was a good thing because if he did he would suffer through some supreme withdrawals and those were never fun. Those were things that had to be avoided at all costs and he really meant that. The smell almost floated up to his nostrils as he took in a deep breath and managed to relax a little, now it was ready. It smelled absolutely delicious in a sense, it smelled like a drug and that was good, no it was great it smelled like the one thing that he was always in need of.
He slowly picked up the needle with his other hand that was shaking slightly he used the needle to suck up some of the brown liquid in the spoon then dropped the spoon, there had only been a little liquid left and it wasn’t worth saving, He flicked the body of the needle once before snapping the elastic band around his upper arm. Track marks littered his arms he snapped the elastic band once, twice three more times until the veins in his arm began to stand out. Now he was really ready to do this. Quickly he manoeuvred the needle into his dominant hand, his right and pushed the needle into his left arm as close to the vein as he possibly could, if not dead on it.
He was shaking from head to toe now, he really needed that one damn fix and now extremely bad. He pushed the needle down and injected the drug into his vein before pulling it the needle out and dropping it on his bed. Then just like that he was floating, gone, away from the real world which suited him just fine. An idea ran through his head as he nearly collapsed on his bed desperate to pick up the pen and paper that he had abandoned only minutes before, he started scribbling down lines and words, both of which were meaningless. He would make sense of those later, after he was done. He stopped for a moment and just like that the room was suddenly silent except for one thing, the closet, there was something making noise in there and it was coming for him.
He tapped his pen, frustrated on his leg which was donned in black leather pants before he absent mindedly scratched his head before brushing the black hair out of his eyes and focusing back on the paper. You need to focus on this; you need to get this done. Now. He thought to himself firmly as he scribbled in the corner, making sure the pen actually did work. You also need a fix, and badly at that.The little voice in his head said, reminding him as he jerked his head upwards. He was sitting in his filthy bedroom in his filthy house wearing clothes that he had worn all week. Or had he worm them longer than that? He couldn’t remember, either way he wasn’t going to focus on small details; he was going to get this done. He was going to write something and then get high because if he was high he wasn’t going to get anything done. It was a reward for him, a reward for getting something done. A reward that he would get anyways because he needed it, he needed the drug so badly. Just do it, get a fix out of your shoe and do it, it’ll clear your mind and then you’ll be able to write a song. Not just a song either, you’ll be able to write a wonderful song, one that will bring the album to number one. The voice inside his head promised.
“One hit, I guess that might do me some good.” The man spoke slowly, as if he was savouring every word, thinking it through. His husky voice seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room. The record that had been playing had run out hours ago but he hadn’t bothered to get up and change it, or replay it. He didn’t care it was background music, like everything else in the world; it was all in the background and he was the center of attention. “One hit, that would do me some good.” He said again as if he was trying to convince himself that it would be a good idea. He didn’t need convincing to shoot up and let the wonderful drug run through his veins, but he wasn’t addicted. He didn’t have a drug problem, he was fine, he just liked the drug, it didn’t mean he was addicted, or that he needed it, he just liked it. He sat on the bed and tapped the paper with his pen before yawning and dropping the pen and putting the paper down beside him and then scratching his forehead before letting his hand fall to his side. His fingers were starting to twitch, he really was going to need a hit soon....
He was sitting cross legged on his bed, like he normally did when he was writing, or attempting to write a song or music or anything really. His clothes were filthy dirty, and they were beginning to stink, but he never took notice of it. If he was to wash them they would simply get dirty again it was a waste of time, a rather huge waste of time at that. His fingers were now starting to twitch more than they normally did. He was going to need a fix very soon or risk.... or risk going through withdrawal of it, because he was so attached to the precious drug, it was like his lifeline, without it he was nothing.
His calloused fingers slipped down to his leather boots as he pulled the laces and loosened them, working quickly to get his boot off. That’s where the treasure was hidden, that’s where the drug was hidden the thing that would calm and sooth him. He pulled the little baggy out of his shoe, the little baggy that contained his precious drug and slid himself closer to the night table pulling the drawer open slowly and glancing around the room as if he was expecting someone to appear out of no-where and watch what he was doing. He pulled out the needle as well as the candle and spoon and retrieved the lighter from his pocket holding it in his right hand and flicking his thumb along the roller and watching as the tiny flame appeared, with his other hand he picked up the candle and slowly put the flame to the wick watching as it lit. It was a puny flame but it would work, once it got hot enough. He put the spoon down on the top of the night table which was made of a dark chocolate colored wood. He left the little baggy on his bed with the needle as he got up then picked the needle up before he left the room.
He needed water, just a little bit of water and then things would be perfect. His feet moved sluggishly as if they didn’t want to co-operate with him, like they didn’t agree with what he was going to do. He stepped over the pile of broken glass that was on his floor. He eyed it suspiciously, he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there, or what it had been before. His house was a mess, almost as filthy as the clothes that he was dressed in. He crinkled his nose, he could smell vomit he went into the bathroom and turned the tap on, waiting a few moments before putting the tip of the needle under the tap and taking in a few drops of water. That was all he needed. He shut off the tap and shut the lights off before making his way back to his room, carefully avoiding the pile of shattered glass on his floor. He shut his bedroom door behind him, he wanted to be completely alone when he did this, and he wanted to be alone in his state of bliss.
He carefully picked up the spoon and the little baggy of heroin as he set the needle down gently next to the candle, not close enough to feel the heat but close enough so that it was easily within reach. Tipping the bag over he slowly put a touch of the drug onto the spoon before redoing the bag again and putting it into his boot. He would be able to find it there later, that was somewhere that it would come to no harm. He picked up the needle and squirted the water over top of the brown chunks then slowly moving the spoon over the little flame. It wouldn’t take long for this to heat up, not with the amount that he had put into the spoon. He placed the needle on the night table carefully and focused back on the drug watching it intently as the brown chunks began to dissolve, it wouldn’t take long at all before he could shoot up. Not long at all, he shrugged off his heavy jacket that he was wearing revealing the elastic that was already tight around his bicep. He kept a close eye on the drug that was boiling away, or almost boiling away because he wouldn’t let it boil.
He waited extremely impatiently for another thirty seconds or so though it felt like hours. He had waited too long and now was in dire need of a fix, he didn't do this often, which was a good thing because if he did he would suffer through some supreme withdrawals and those were never fun. Those were things that had to be avoided at all costs and he really meant that. The smell almost floated up to his nostrils as he took in a deep breath and managed to relax a little, now it was ready. It smelled absolutely delicious in a sense, it smelled like a drug and that was good, no it was great it smelled like the one thing that he was always in need of.
He slowly picked up the needle with his other hand that was shaking slightly he used the needle to suck up some of the brown liquid in the spoon then dropped the spoon, there had only been a little liquid left and it wasn’t worth saving, He flicked the body of the needle once before snapping the elastic band around his upper arm. Track marks littered his arms he snapped the elastic band once, twice three more times until the veins in his arm began to stand out. Now he was really ready to do this. Quickly he manoeuvred the needle into his dominant hand, his right and pushed the needle into his left arm as close to the vein as he possibly could, if not dead on it.
He was shaking from head to toe now, he really needed that one damn fix and now extremely bad. He pushed the needle down and injected the drug into his vein before pulling it the needle out and dropping it on his bed. Then just like that he was floating, gone, away from the real world which suited him just fine. An idea ran through his head as he nearly collapsed on his bed desperate to pick up the pen and paper that he had abandoned only minutes before, he started scribbling down lines and words, both of which were meaningless. He would make sense of those later, after he was done. He stopped for a moment and just like that the room was suddenly silent except for one thing, the closet, there was something making noise in there and it was coming for him.