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VERSUS
‘I’ve seen your face before my friend; but I don’t know if you know who I am…but I know why you keep your silence up, the hurt doesn’t show, but the pain still grows; it’s no stranger to you or me….’
[In The Air Tonight]; Phil Collins
‘Man, you want?’ he offered, thrusting the package forward. He took it cautiously, immediately marvelling at how weightless it felt, despite the size.
‘Just came in, top of the range’ he persisted, as he ripped open another pack and shoved it before him; it could have easily been mistaken for flour, but they were grainier, almost individual; ‘I’ll give ya a discount, half price…’ he continued; ‘hundred for a pack’ he added hastily, when he realized that his prospective buyer was setting it down.
‘Does wonders for stress’ he added with a wink ‘It’s
all good from here…‘ he assured with a firm nod of the head.
He
had just begun to turn away, when the man called after him; ‘...small price to
pay to be happy, don’cha think?’
He stopped abruptly in his steps; after a moment, he began to turn around…
Cool water gushed from the faucet, pelting against the tin basin; the fluorescent lighting flashed on, then off like an irritating fly as the thump from the bass outside filtered into the room.
He splashed cold water onto his face, still throbbing from the heat of the cut, running just below his left eye, down to his jaw line, but no matter what he remedied. thick, red blood continued to ooze mercilessly from the small slit.
‘You
need it, man, what’cha sayin’ ya don’ wan’ it?’
'Told'ya,... don't want it'
He
looked up and almost did a double take from the reflection staring back at him;
he looked gaunt; dark, almost inhuman. His olive skin had become flaky and dry;
his eyes had diluted, evolving into murky pools of brown; his hair hung, wet and
matted against his cheeks, flattened onto his forehead, his face; this is
me…he reminded himself. This is what I am…what I’ve become...
He
winced suddenly; the pain of the cut had just begun to seep in as it met the
air, but his internal resolve wasn’t enough to urge it to stop.
‘Thought
you were cuttin’ down… second pack today, man’
‘Yeah,
I’m workin’ on it…’
More
blood had oozed from the slit, decorating red onto his dark cashmere sweater.
‘Look
at you, look at what you’ve become-’
‘If
you don’t like it, go-’
‘You
don’t-’
‘Go…’
‘Howi-‘
‘Go
on, I told, ya to go! GO! Get the fuck outta here!’
He
tore the sweater over his head, smearing the blood further onto his olive
complexion; he splashed water onto it again, but thick blood would still
resurface and ooze back in place.
‘You
wanna break somethin’ cake boy? Cos you ’n me had this deal goin’ on and
it ain’t seem like you gettin’ it’
‘Man,
I don’t need it no more’
‘Ain't
nobody in their right mind'll say they dun need this shit...'
Who’m I kidding? he thought, tossing the sweater aside; he dug desperately into his pockets, tearing out the lining furiously, searching everything from his socks, to his undershirt for the little piece of heaven that would bring solitude, ending the desperation,
the
madness of it all.
He
retrieved it moments later, triumphantly tearing the pack at the side; for a
moment, he caught sight of himself in the mirror; that leer, those greedy,
lustful eyes.
I
need this he
consoled himself as he spread the white powder onto the counter top; he was eye
to eye now, the fine powder just below his nose; as he kneeled onto the tiled
floor, he avoided the reflection staring back at him.
I
just wanna be happy…