It was dark. It was dark in all senses of the word. It was dark outside, the lights in my living room were dimmed to match. But by far the darkest part of my surroundings was inside of me. My mind had been like a black hole of disturbing twisted thoughts sense about two months ago. It probably didn't help that I had taken to shooting heroin in my spare time, and spare time is one thing I always seemed to have now a days.
I sat there in my darkened living room hunched over my coffee table in a half crazed fetal position slowly and carefully opening the little cellophane baggie. I took the fine brown powder from the the plastic warping and dumped it onto my table. I began to chop it down finely just to make sure all the chunks had been pulverized. After I was satisfied with my progress I got out the spoon. It was old and once had been used for civilized things such as eating. But now a days I used it for more sinister, pleasurable things. I put the pleasure giving, life taking powder into the spoon with just a touch of water to help the process go a bit smoother. I struck the old Zippo and lit it underneath the spoon and let chemistry do the rest. As the concoction began to slowly cook down I readied the needle and cotton ball. Sticking the cotton ball precariously on the tip of the needle to filter out anything I didn't want swimming through my veins was something I always did. Besides if I ran out of smack anytime soon I could just squeeze out whatever still remained in the dirty brown filter.
The whole process of doing this got me almost as high as the drugs did. Once I felt ready I dipped the filtered end of the syringe into the spoon swirling it around soaking up as much as I could. Then drawing back the plunger I could see the medicine fill up the neck of the dropper. I then took up my arm and searched for a suitable vein to shoot into. I always used the visible vein in my right arm because it was easy to find and hadn’t failed me yet. I drove the needle straight down searching for that pay off. I knew I hit it when the blood from my body started to trickle up the droppers neck forming blood red swirls that danced with the heroin in such a sexual way it almost aroused me. The way it looked always seemed to remind me of flowers for some reason.
I began to slowly push the plunger down. I could feel that warm life giving mess begin to flow inside me. I took in as much as my body would let me. My mind felt as though it began to shrink and spin away. My body felt heavy and care free. I could feel everything coming to pass. I could almost see centuries of people just like me wasting away slowly as victims of the flower Alexander the Great once thought of as a miracle. I could smell the shitty alley ways I would hang out in waiting to score. I could see the faces of the junkies I bought from. Twisted, old, decrepit and desperate. I felt there hands grabbing at me. I could smell them breathing on me heavy and desperate. It made me feel sick and old.
I collapsed back on to the couch totally numbed and spinning. It was there in the darkness of my house and in the darkness of my life I began to recall what had happened all those weeks ago. It was then I started to fully understand.