This isn't my story, but it's the story of someone out there. Whoever you are, out there alone in the desolate wasteland called 'reality', where your voice seems lost - this is for you. Warning, the following contains some sad themes that children under 12 shouldn't have to worry about. [These include - @ddiction , domestic v!olence, and death] But if you start, I suggest reading it to the end. --- Shackled by Addiction : Written by Dema. ---------------------
' pills. I need them.' Against the migraine and bitter cold, he tried to contemplate on one thing : Who left him here to die? The pills, the pain meds, he needed them. He'd gone days without them, and needed them now. His vision had reduced to a blur, and his head was pounding with pain. He struggled to think, but even still, he had to know.. Who's fault was it? That he was dying in an ally? 'Dad.. He did this. He hit me, he hit mom. He left us. Didn't leave any money for us. I was.. ten? Maybe. How old am I now? I can't remember.' The wind cut at his bear neck. He was mostly still, aside from the occasional moan or shudder - people were out and about, (even at this hour.) but most ignored him. Part of him wondered why nobody tried to help. But would he help a shaking man in an ally? Of course not. 'Mom? No. It's not her fault....' He tried to make his thoughts louder than his body, which seemed to be screaming, 'Why won't you give us what we need?!' Clutching his head, he thought, 'Not her fault. She tried her best. She died in a car crash, not her fault. I was thirteen.' He dared to slit his eyes open, snow had started to fall. Turning his head to glance at the street, too quick, it felt like fire. Fire burns down houses. Fire was the feeling he felt. 'Who's fault is it then? Jace? He must've took the bag. The bag with the pills.' He lived with his best friend, Jace, after his mom passed. Technically still did, Jace was his roommate. 'Jace is holding out on me. He wants to kill me. It must be his fault. I need the pills, the pain meds.' Looking out onto the icy street, he saw cars. One car was black, like his dad's car had been. 'Jace hates me. Why else would he take what I so desperately need?' Another wave of intense agony. 'Kyra, she has pills - or so she said. Would she lie? No, she's never lied. I do. I lied to Jace's mom when she asked if I had started hurting myself. Would Jace lie? Probably.' A man walked by, he tried to mumble something to him. Something along the lines of 'help'. But his speech was too slurred, and instead the man just sped up. 'Oh, he left. Just like they all did. Dad left, Mom left, Jace left... Left me for dead.' 'But the pills never left me. When mom died...' He wanted to stop his train of thought, but it was too late now. 'When mom died, it was like all the color went away. But the pills gave it back, I felt free.' 'What if someone else took the bag? The pills. The pain meds. I need them. Maybe Liam took it? Would he? Probably. He always told me it was a bad idea to take so many. Yes, it's his fault.' He realized he couldn't trust anyone. 'It's all their fault. Dad, for hurting us, leaving us. Kyra for keeping them from me. Jace for taking them. Or maybe it was Liam? I don't care. I hate all of them.' The world was so gray, dull, muted. Rain seemed violent, friends seemed like enemies, nothing felt real. For a second, he thought the pain stopped. 'Maybe I fell asleep. Should I open my eyes? Perhaps not.' He reasoned, 'If I wake up, I'll just be in pain again.' But eventually the relief intrigued him, so he opened his eyes. He was standing in a clearing in the forest, snow was falling, the white creating a poetic contrast against the black trees. But why were they black? Everything was monochromic and fuzzy. Squinting through the snow, he saw a bag. No, not 'a' bag. The bag. He tried to run to it, but the snow slowed him down to where it seemed like he was a pendulum swinging behind the glass. 'I need it.' When he finally got to it, he reached into it, but was confused at what he found. 'Hand cuffs?' Hesitantly he put them on. Suddenly, the landscape sharpened and the color came back. He saw the sky was a pale blue and the trees were dark green - evergreen trees. But the beautiful expanse of color seemed to blink away quick as it came. 'Huh?' His handcuffs had fallen off. 'There has to be more.' And he found more. And more. And more. But it was never enough. And when all of them were gone, he ended up how he started. Shivering with numerous aches racking his body. Mind occupied by thoughts of the handcuffs. It would seem he was alone, as the last shreds of color and shape dissolved. And a stomach turning conclusion hit him, as he felt his body fading away, 'What am I saying... It's not Jace's fault. It's mine. It's always been mine.' He remembered Jace held him back when he had tried to end it all, he'd always tried to help his addiction problem. 'But it's too late now. The pills weren't freedom, it was perpetual prison... ' With that last thought, his eyes snapped open, exposing the myth he'd made. The sun was on the verge of rising. The aches and nausea hit him again, but he was surprised he was still alive. "I found you!" A voice from behind him, "I'm going to get you help, ok?" Too weak to stand up, he turned around the best he could. "Jace?" He mumbled. His friend helped him stand, and he remembered, 'I was never alone.'
