PART - I (#1)
Oh well... Breathe... Keep breathing... Sing us songs to keep us warm. That was the music telling me what to do. Was I forced? Yes, deep inside, buried inside there was a voice telling me to give it up. But it was too late. I already swallowed hard the last pill from the last prescription some dealers gave me. It will be a chance in hell to keep you alive. Or should I say... it isn't? Or the pill was you? I don't know. Soon my heart will stop torturing my chest or so it did the last few minutes. My heart was down into a deep hole that time I met her. I wish I didn't, I wish I even met a lot of people. But all stories have an ending, and some of them doesn't even have a start.
Soon as I remember being sober, clean, healthy, and sane, I had many minutes of joy. Not many times in my whole life was that bad. Then I thought I was wasting my time reading books and hoping a chance of encountering with the serial killer - in the novel I was reading - would appear and kill me... or my Philosophy professor. Dreamland felt so good on drugs when I entered college. And so did my life with my so-called posse. Then everything started to change; people knew my name, my reputation of how many beers I drank a day. Information I would rather be selfish to reveal. Tragic enough to bring me in front of a theater and be smashed in the face with a bouquet of withering flowers. It wasn't nice but it was okay.
