It Was Only Sunday
Chapter One: My Past.
Chapter One: My Past
He saw me in the alley. He knew death was watching me, waiting for me. He saw my arms and legs which consisted of fifty cuts and burns that spoke of pain, hurt, and naked men. He could see it burning inside of me. The man bent over. He had gorgeous bright green eyes. I remember him as my savior.
He finally sat next to me. He introduced himself and after that I heard nothing further. He looked and stared at me like he could see right through me. He got me to speak to him after a couple minutes of him talking and me not listening. He told me that he knew. He told me about his life. He had been addicted to almost every drug in the book, acid, DMD, LSD, mushrooms, cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, everything. He had first gotten high at eleven years old with his best friend. His parents knew and they didn’t care. He sounded just like me except for the part that he managed to pull through.
He could tell by my blood shot eyes and shaking hands that I just shut up H and meth and I needed help. He stuck one arm behind my back and one beneath my legs and picked me up. I could feel his warmth against my chilly skin. I knew he would bring me somewhere better. After all, how could I get worse? I was at rock bottom.
He saw me in the alley. He knew death was watching me, waiting for me. He saw my arms and legs which consisted of fifty cuts and burns that spoke of pain, hurt, and naked men. He could see it burning inside of me. The man bent over. He had gorgeous bright green eyes. I remember him as my savior.
He finally sat next to me. He introduced himself and after that I heard nothing further. He looked and stared at me like he could see right through me. He got me to speak to him after a couple minutes of him talking and me not listening. He told me that he knew. He told me about his life. He had been addicted to almost every drug in the book, acid, DMD, LSD, mushrooms, cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, everything. He had first gotten high at eleven years old with his best friend. His parents knew and they didn’t care. He sounded just like me except for the part that he managed to pull through.
He could tell by my blood shot eyes and shaking hands that I just shut up H and meth and I needed help. He stuck one arm behind my back and one beneath my legs and picked me up. I could feel his warmth against my chilly skin. I knew he would bring me somewhere better. After all, how could I get worse? I was at rock bottom.