Sheet of Flame

Judge me all you like, but it feels good. At least I’m not stupid. I don’t share my needles with anyone else, even when I really need it. Also, I haven’t actually done any heroin in at least six months. Give or take a couple weeks. I’m on the methadone train. Government regulated drugs. Addicted to smack? Your good buddy Uncle Sam is there to provide you with the solution! Comes in easy to swallow pill forms, or for those archaic users out there, a straight injection. Lifetime supply! Free if you call now! Notice: free only in eligible states, not including California, New Jersey or New York. May include shipping and handling. Some side effects are lightheadedness, drowsiness, sweating, nausea and vomiting. Off one addiction, onto another.

Forget the legal banter. I’m not sure what they expect to get when they give addicts another addictive drug to combat their first addiction. I don’t mind too much. Better to profit from the folks in suits than be one. The suits seem to constantly flow. I don’t know how to put it better, they are just constantly in flux. Moving. Working. Getting to one place only so they can go to another. Not me. I stop and smell the roses for a good long time. I like to pretend that I’m a doctor when I tie up my arm. Feeling around for my veins, I imagine myself as some suit working on some other suit, all seriousness. Grim-faced, I whisper to myself about scalpels and milliliters, though I’m not positive if I’ve ever seen a scalpel up close.

I carefully thread the needle into my vein and inject about seventy milliliters of beauty into myself. Feeling the ground fall slowly out from under me, I lean back and prepare for the freefall of about a foot. Even though I know I’m sitting, I can feel the air rushing past my body. At this altitude, it becomes hard to breathe. I close my eyes and lean further back. I stop breathing. Just going to breathe when I get closer to the ground, I tell myself. Just when I’m closer.