Needle punctured skin seeking the elusive vein before the syringe drew some blood into its murky brown water filled barrel. The two liquids fought for supremacy until the plunger steadily was pressed jettisoning its payload into the arm. Cheap adulterated street strength heroin and amphetamine cocktail fired its way though, affecting everything it met until it exploded in the brain. Uppers and Downers collided, battling each other, in a chemical version of a West Side Story dance fight. Heroin as the Jets, Speed as the Sharks or maybe it was the other way around.
His eyes closed registering the sense of bliss but also the heart pounding joyous excitement. Needle pulled and discarded, sleeve rolled up, face washed. The meeting was in an hour, luckily the walk to the office would take the edge off breakfast. Teeth quickly brushed, shoes laced, the “flat evacuation protocol for the morning” religiously followed, have to remember to look like you fit in. The heroin washed over him as huge brown wave, stealing his senses causing him to wobble at the door with a grin; until the Speed followed up its assault with its heart jarring staccato hammering, forcing him into the world.
Wandering the pathways of Woodhouse moor, cutting through the green. Admiring the clumps of students racing towards the university. Bags heavy with books and folders, chatting about their last night outings whilst ignoring him, only a few looked up to notice and look away. Perhaps they could really see, perhaps they all really knew but no one ever mentioned it. The waves were rolling and crashing more frequent now, this wasn’t usual, this hasn’t happened before. A stumble, a slight stumble, then knee crashing, shoulder falling, head tumbling. The body plummets to the grass, eyes swimming up inside the head as a circle of people look down. Eyes close.
Eyes open, his shirt is off, arm bared to the world, a needle attached to a floating bag of saline dripping salt laden waters into him. More bruising on his arm, a middle-aged nurse looks at him with derision and worry.
“Don’t speak love. Overdose and heart attack, long time coming it would seem with the state of that arm”. Monitor’s beep, checked, temperature taken, monitor checked again and tutted at. “is there anyone you want us to contact?” The sentence stayed in the air as if light but actually filled with the ramifications of his lifestyle. The worry, the guilt and the shame. His family would have to know, he was no longer functioning.