by Phill McGuinness

     Sharp pain pricked his arm. Shock turned to sensation as he shot towards  the dark shimmering surface of the void. His head broke the smooth skin of blackness, but still the darkness remained, until he opened his eyes.

    Angelistic light assaulted his vision, as his body jerked sharply upright. Glen’s eyes slowly cleared as chemicals raced around his veins, destroying the poison trapped inside his closed system. Halos ringed their heads, obscuring their features in deep shadow.

    "How many fingers am I holding up?" asked the stony faced ambulance officer. He gave his partner a glance and shook his head, but be didn’t catch it as he was disposing of the needles into a plastic container.

    "Fuckin’ dog!" screamed Glen as he shakily rose to his feet, throwing an icy stare to his saviour as he slowly started to shuffle off. "Fuckin’ wastin’ me thirty bucks," floated into the officer’s ears as Glen slunk around the corner and into the murky park.

    The dim morning light fought to filter through the thick overhead foliage. Shadows played in dark little corners, dancing with the light breeze. Two desperate eyes were all that could be seen from the little pocket of hell that obscured his form from the gloomy glow.

    A small balding man walked cautiously down the path. His blue double breasted suit clashing against the dark browns and greens. The snake pounced. Striking a viscous blow to the head, knocking his prey to the ground. Moving in like a hyena, he rained kicks to the body and head leaving the man writhing in pain. Glen then bent down and drove a long thin blade between the ribs piercing his pump, while he lifted his wallet. Cain stood back up, his body stiff with alertness,  seeming to sniff the musty air, before mysteriously disappearing back into park.

    Glen sat down heavily against a huge, dark knobbly tree and opened the Italian leather wallet. A family picture stared him in the face, but he couldn’t feel the happiness. The emotion alien to his world. Rifling straight to the money compartment a crisp fifty dollar bill, sat snugly. A sparkle briefly entered his eyes as he licked his lips, while trying to scratch the itch inside his arm. He pulled out his cheap worn wallet and placed the money inside, removing a dog-eared photo at the same time. A kindly smile played across his face as he stared at the image. The only friend he had since high-school. Everyone had deserted him, but not Sarah, she had stuck by. For three years. Until last week. She had an over-dose.

    A tear rolled down his left cheek and Glen started his painful walk back to the city to score.

    He walked up to the Vietnamese kid standing in the Bourke Street Timezone and handed him the money. The kid moved his hand to his mouth and spat two caps into his hand and eventually shook hands with Glen. They both walked off in separate directions.

    Glen spotted the nearest building and went inside searching for the men’s toilets. He slunk inside and nearly sprinted to the closest cubicle slamming the door behind him and then carefully locking it. He sat down and licked his lips as he opened the first balloon and removed the foil. "Fuck!" was all he could muster, as he franticly scrambled to open his second. A hole appeared in door of the cubicle as Glen started hurling abuse at the ceiling. He ran his sweaty hands through the dirty locks, stared through the splinters, unlocked the door, and left leaving a vapour trail.

    He walked to Southgate searching for his few lonely companions, desperate to find a way to score again. Glen spotted a small group sitting in a dark corner near the Twin Towers. He walked up to Michael and whispered something into his ear, before they both moved off. They sped down a flight of steps and snuck into the side entrance of the Sheraton. Glen quickly negotiated his way down another flight of stairs, and through a door. The desperate pair finally found themselves in the underground carpark.

    It wasn’t long before they heard footsteps approaching. Glen could quite clearly make out the sound of high heels against concrete. The sharp sound was growing louder, as her predators hid low beside a car.

    The tall blonde woman glided hastily past a row of cars and felt a hand snake its way around her mouth. Capturing the cry before it escaped. Just as quick a knife found itself at her throat. Another hand grabbed at her bag, ripping it from her shoulder, before both animals sprinted towards the door, leaving the woman helpless on the ground.

    The thieves stopped in the stairwell and started searching through their prize, removing the purse first, only to find forty dollars. "Stingy bitch," emerged from Michael’s mouth as he shoved the twenty into his front pocket. They dumped the bag and purse where they had lingered, before leaving the building, making their way back towards Bourke Street.

    Glen and Michael strolled up to an Asian in the strong mid-day sun, whispered a few words and passed him the money. The dealer walked off and returned with a couple of caps two minutes later. He handed them to Glen, turned around and hurried off.

    The scraggly pair walked down a dark and dirty alley, trying to find a place to shoot up. Finally stopping behind a CleanAway, about thirty metres from the street. Michael sat down against the wall and held out has hand expectantly. Glen followed by sliding down the grimy brick wall and passed Michael his cap. Glen opened his hit and smiled as two small rocks of heroin stared back at him, hypnotising him, controlling his very thoughts and actions. Michael cooked up first and injected himself. He firstly turned to Glen, and laughed. Michael then slid sidewards down the filthy brickwork with a lost look on his face. Giggling as he went.

    Glen watched Michael fall sidewards as he removed his belt. He then bent over carefully and retrieved the needle greedily from Michael’s limp hand and placed it on his leg. Glen then carefully transferred the rocks into his spoon and added some water. He then removed a lighter from his front pocket and began to heat his addiction. When it was ready, Glen picked up the needle and drew the liquid up with practiced efficiency. He then put the needle on his lap and tightened the old belt around his arm, and pulled it tight with his teeth. Glen then slid the needle easily into his vein. Pushing down gently, the needle jammed. Frustration welled up inside, as he slammed his fist against the ground. He removed the needle and cleared the blockage. Glen attempted to inject the heroin a second time. The same result followed. He cleared the blockage a third time, and jabbed the needle into his arm, pressing down hard. Forcing the poison into his fragile system. It worked. A smile played across his face, before his heart faltered, twisting his smile into a look of abject misery. His heart beat once more, and stopped forever.

    Michael sat up groggily about half an hour later and looked at Glen’s lifeless body, sprawled across the ground.Michael poked him a couple of times, and scratched his head. "Shit eh," was all he could utter as he got up. Finally walking away.

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