|
Crazy
Location: right behind you...
|
-breathe deep- A sample of my own...
uhhhh this is hard. i share stuff i do a lot, but never anything i wished to continue on. my self esteeme has just plained died.
so i'm forcing myself to post this.... any thoughts apprecitated: BUUUUUUUT
i never edit my shit till its done. you will find typos! a bunch! you will get confused!
its okay! its the sample! enjoy... (ya, right)
What I need to do is think of a good alibi. . That was one of Z’s many thoughts about the issue at hand. Where to go, remember who had seen him before, where he was at that time and where he needs to be in the short future.
It’s odd having to be so careful and try to not be suspicious. It took much thought of thinking thoughts normally not thinkable. You had to make sure people knew you, knew you to be somewhat of a wanderer, but think they have you pegged down. They need to know your routine. Not a nomadic fashion, but a door to door kind of life.
Z could do about anything imaginable if he kept his cool and focus on the here and now. He can zone in on events and just do the actions necessary to make things happen. Simple as breathing. But now he was thinking. Thinking means it’s not natural, not instinct. People who concentrate on walking may walk into a hole because they concentrate so hard on where not to walk that they do not see the pitfall they are stepping into.
So Z did not want to think. But he had to.
Z walked back to his car and got a small cardboard box that weighed maybe two pounds, looked around one more time to see if he saw anybody around or not, confirmed that he did not see anyone, and strode to the door of the adobe house.
Z knocked on the door and then heard footsteps approaching his direction.
“Hello?” called an old man’s voice, weak and thin.
“It’s me, Sam. No worries, unless I have to stand out here. May I come in now?” Z asked, slightly annoyed at his tension.
“Of course!” came a jolly sounding voice from the same old tired man.
Z knew he’d be welcome, yet he still did not want to just enter. Scaring elderly people is not a good way to keep them in health. Z walked in and breathed a low breath of relief. Why am I so nervous?
His nervousness seemed to be uncalled for. Everything went as expected.
What he saw inside the old man’s house put him small awe. It was so pretty, so simple, so bare of many things people believe are necessary for their homes. Sam was not a simple man by any means, he was just poor. But his house was truly beautiful.
Sam’s place was not very big, a simple living room with a couch, TV, PC, and a small kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. Not fancy. Simply gorgeous, though. Sam had turned his walls and ceilings into a myriad of beautiful scenery. He has a lush jungle-like setup in his bed room with pictures of several different types of great parrots and reptilians. His kitchen had pictures of garden-like scenery. On what appeared to be several acres of land showed an old barn and vegetable garden beside it.
“That was my house before this sickness hit me.” Sam said, sounding almost like a teacher telling you the history of your country. “I had signed deals that the government said would be okay. I had five acres of solid hemp. A clothing company had made up the contract with me. I was set for years on the one harvest. Bastards,” Sam said in a low monotone. Too low for Z’s comfort. A tone that said “I give up”.
Defeated. Damn those hypocritical congressmen. They are loaded and rich, simply working off of other people, playing with people as if they lived for one long unending game of Kangaroo court.
Sam grew quiet and rested on one of his cabinets. “It’ll always work out in the end, Sam.”, Z said quietly and then grinned and quoted, “Even when all is lost, there is something to be found. Where there is something to be found, then there is always hope of something more. The Big Picture never reveals itself easily, m’boy, it takes some polishing to see the old BP. . . “
Sam smiled a weak, fake smile and finished the quote “And as long as something can be found there is unknowing. As long as there is something unknown, we cannot say we have no more hope because we know there is something.” Sam finished in a low monotone. “I am sorry, Z.”
“No need for you to feel sorry for speaking your mind, Sam. Never be so silly. I cannot imagine the trials you face right now and I pray I-“
“Me, too, Z. no one deserves this”, Sam interrupted, oddly showing his house off with his arms as if to say “TA DAH!”.
“I pray I never do”, Z repeated and finished.
“What did Dr. Philip say, Sam?”
“SSDD, kid. He said that it is in my lungs, too, and God knows I can feel it. God damn God.”
“Sam, I love you. I love you very much, and I love all, but do not speak that way in front of me again”. Z stated in a cold, clean, clear, but cold deadly voice.
Sam just smiled. “I apologize Z. I’m just down.”
Z forced himself to smile. “I know, Sam. So does He. I grow angry too, but I never get to read life’s script, ya know, and until I do read one or see its end I can’t see me blaming the Author. For all I know, he adds a happy ending. And if not, well, it was still a decent read.”
“Perhaps. The cancer is in my lungs now. So much for hoping I’d be in prime health if I lay off the smokes, huh? Well, it would have been a waste of money anyhow. Back to the doc. The cancer will be fully in my system within ten weeks if I somehow live that long”, Sam stated, not depressingly. Knowingly, acceptably.
“This will ease your pain. And don’t talk any smack about it being evil. It’s clean and much safer than the Morphine you take.” Z told Sam, handing the box to him. “Just do not show it off, stick with a water bong, and do not do anymore than what I wrote in the instructions. Too much won’t hurt you, per se, but I think saving you the pain is a big enough price to ask that you save a clear head unless you hurt too badly. Fair enough?”
“Yes it is. How much would this be worth?”
“Twenty years, old man.”
“In money, boy!”
“Not sure. I’d not be shocked if it would go for $2,000. And that’s if I leave it pure. If I were a pusher and con man I could splice it with some other herb or cheaper pot and probably make four grand easily.”
Sam’s mouth twisted. “If the hemp-“
“Sam, the hemp did fail. You are broke. Take this, use it when needed and don’t worry. You have foodstuffs?”
“Yes”, Sam said sullenly, as if he were a child. “I have plenty of food. I have the garden…. It makes me ache in the body, but the mind loves it.”
Z smiled warmly. “Yes, the mind is always worth it. That’s why I say to use this as needed. I know you know; I just worry.”
Sam nodded. The old man had tears.
“That bad?”
Sam nodded. It was hitting him now.
“Have a two liter bottle, by chance? Like a Pepsi?”
Sam stood up and Z gently pushed him back. “Relax, show me where.”
Z took his directions and opened the cabinet top left up from the sink. His took in a deep breath, exhaled, checked his temper then brought out a bottle that was very much not a soft drink.
“Beautiful.” Z snarled. How much?”
Sam looked shocked. “Thirty bucks, Z. It’s only something I do every once in awhile. Give me a break! I’m a good sixty years your elder, I am not a child!”
“I have risked years of jail time and much more you know nothing about to help you out. And you still do such things? Don’t treat you like a child? I should have left you to rot. Act older and I’ll treat your age what it deserves.”
Z poured it down the drain. Why must it be this way? I’ll be the one fighting tears if this continues.
Z took a mostly empty soda out of the cabinet and poured it into a cup, then got a knife from the utensil drawer and cut the bottle. He proceeded to show Sam how to make a bong.
Z normally did this with cookies or what not for people, but with this kind of sickness and pain, it was a quick blow and eating it took far too long for it to work.
“Better?” Z asked kindly.
Sam nodded and apologized for his childish behavior, for which Z shrugged off. “Worry not. I can relate. I have to go. Now, don’t take what I say as a scolding but it is important that you hear me out and do as I tell you.”
Z explained the dosages, showed Sam the list of instructions again. “This should last you an entire year. I will be back in one year. If you need something, go through the proper channels and I’ll try to help. I have a lot more patients to check up on. Do not use that Morphine! I’d take it with me if I knew there’d be no one to come and make sure you’re using it properly. I know it has to be a difficult role to play, but you have to do it. Do what you can, when you can. Find a safe, put the Morphine in it. If I need it when I come back, I’ll grab it. Fair enough, sir?”
Sam nodded and smiled. “The pain is much more tolerable now.”
Z forced a smile and nodded, trying to not frown. The pain is more tolerable. God, how bad was it? Z shook Sam’s hand and left.
Z pulled into off the highway onto a small dirt covered road. The road led through about half a mile of forested land, revealing lush green trees all around. God only knew what all kinds of wildlife lived here in these woods. It was a serene place for anyone who cares for the earthly pleasures in life, warm but not overbearing. Martin gourds were the only true oddity her. Z loved and embraced all life except for mosquitoes; the reason for the gourds for the Martins, a bird that consumed up to one thousand mosquitoes per day.
Z saw his small cabin as he pulled up to it and wondered how the place had been lately. He didn’t keep any dogs, something he missed, but he prefered the squirrels in birds and he hated leaving a dog behind anyway; there was no way he could be accompanied by anything when he went out of town.
Getting out of the car he stretched widely and breathed the air in deep. He sneezed. Damn allergies.
He opened the door to his place and went inside and stopped a moment so his eyes could get use to the lesser light. He’d have to do something soon for more light, but he didn’t have many ideas or options on doing that, yet.
He walked to his PC like some nerd who had been away too long. Well, maybe I am a nerd, who knows? He thought dryly. He logged on and turned his email on.
He had brought about three people to his home, a friend of his being one of them that owed him his life. Z had found him on the street one day and asked the guy why he was a bum.
“Bum?” the burly man asked angrily.
“Well, if I assumed wrong I beg humbly for forgiveness”, Z spoke in a not very well contained sarcastic sneer. He had had too much drink that night and wanted to fight something.
“Have any money?”
“Plenty.”
“Can I have any?”
“Uh, I don’t believe a mistakenly placed insult is worth money, sir.”
“I am a bum and I need some money bad. Um.. “ the bum looked at Z’s car. “Clean your windows?” he asked Z in a doubting voice.
“The windows are clean enough that you’d be cleaner if you wallowed on them.”
“You’re a rich man, do you have any packages I can carry?”
“Not a one.”
The bum was growing gitery. “What is wrong, friend?” Z asked in a real voice that sounded concerned. To Z’s surprise he was concerned. What had gotten into him to become such a bastard?
“I need food.”
“Burger King work?”
“Yes, but I’d need to eat tomorrow too.”
Z figured he had nothing to loose, so. “Then I’ll come back tomorrow.”
The bum’s eyes grew tight, his jaw clenched now and his right cheek clinched.
“Listen, I will do what I can but you fucking suck at politics and politeness. Tell me straight up what are you on?”
The bum spoke so softly Z barely heard. H.
Z frowned deeply, sighed and hit his steering wheel.
“How long?”
“About four weeks.”
Z blinked. The guy looked like he’d been at this for years, though it explained his lack of skills for begging.
“Four weeks. You look like shit. Four? You sure? It is August.”
The bums barely kept his voice from grating and spoke harshly, “I know the date. I just haven’t had good heroine in about 12 weeks.”
“Jonesing.” Z sighed, under his breath.
The bum looked surprised. “One jolt.”
“You never explained why you look like shit. Heroine takes longer under you’re completely fucking stupid.”
“I bought some stuff that treated me badly.”
“Back to back.” Z spoke.
The bums eyebrows rose high and he looked ready to flee.
“If you try to run I’ll fucking run you down, boy. There’s not anyone around and you’re scum. You are lower than a diseased rat in New York. I could kill you with a cops gun and be okay about it as long as I gave the cop a $20.”
The bums face went white. He passed out.
“Whoopsie.” So melodramatic!
Z took the bum home and tied him down onto a bed he put together. He had gotten some clean needles and a little heroine he accumulated here and there and gave the guy a small dosage. It wouldn’t be much good to go through all that shitty dialogue if he died now.
An hour or two later the bum moaned and freaked out.
Z walked out of the cabin, towards a small stream. He sighed. He knew this would be a long few days. Long. Loud. Ugly. Sigh, he thought to himself and did it too.
“Let’s see if I lucked out.”
“He traced a trout line on the ground and lifted it up, pulling up a small net of fish. He did luck out. He had three catfish. He examined all three, careful not to get himself filleted, and noticed one of them had barely been hurt by the hook and actually felt no pain. Two would fill him and his screamer. He let the unhurt one go and sighed again. If there is any justice I will pay for my food one day. Maynard had wrote “life feeds life, life feeds life, this is necessary”. He believed it. His conscience, though, never liked to kill.
He went to a chopping block and laid the catfish out and pulled out a long blade that was in one of many sheaths. This knife was very long at about nine inches, but slender, made to use quickly and razor sharp. He held the fish down with his left hand, fought a tear, and quickly brought the knife down then over in two very powerful and sharp gestures.
He fought the urge to puke, but he did not. He did it right this time, the fish was dead in less time than any other way short of a gun. He had learned how to murder fish quickly so they’d not suffer. The last time his did this… it didn’t go well. He had cried.
The second fish was done just as well and it was easier. He knew not rather to thank God for it to be easier or curse because he needed it to not hurt so bad yet feared the day he felt nothing to kill. Mr. Bum was still hollering so he decided to go ahead and finish his work here.
He walked into the cabin to see the bum dozing off. He went to the bum and poked him awake. Instead of hollering the bum looked like a deer that saw a diesel approaching, unable to look away from the lights drawing near.
“You gave me a jolt?” the bum asked softly, dully.
“A small dosage. What is your name?”
“Will. What in the hell am I doing here?”
“You almost died. I like ugly shit. My weak spot. I saved your life.”
“You’re weird, man.”
“You’re a fucking junkie whose been sticking needles from god knows where in your arm or leg or foot in hopes that a chemical that can kill you makes you feel better and you call me weird? Fucking bums.”
The bum just licked his lips and looked unsteady. He asked “If you’re so sweet, why am I tied down?”
“Because I rather not fight people who smell bad.”
“You gave me a jolt, why would I fight you?”
“Because you’ll not be getting anymore. And the term “jolt” stops now. Wil, listen to me a moment. You’re fucked up. I’m a practicing doctor who helps people. I will save you. You can thank me when its over. But you will stay tied up. Only fools trust junkies.”
“I am not ready to quit!”
“Then you’ll die.”
“Why not let me go?” Wil asked softly. Z wondered why he didn’t panic again.
“You were going to die if you didn’t get fixed up within an hour after we met. Wil, you passed out when I mentioned something that unsettled you. You would be dead. Now. But I saved you. I will not let you go. You will recover or I have a body to hide.”
The bums eyes. . . they changed a lot. Wil didn’t know rather to laugh or cry or what. The guy spoke frankly.
“My name is Z a-“
“Z?”
“yes.”
“Z? One letter? That is silly.”
“You keep criticizing me. You’re almost dead, tied up, scared, and you still criticize me. You have balls or are a computer programmer or something.” He said sarcasticly.
“I am.”
Z blinked. Okay, that was unexpected.
“That’s how I got this way. I did a bunch of research on heroine… I thought I could beat the system.”
“They say that people who are brilliant in one thing can be a pretty stupid motherfucker in reality” Z said lightly.
Wil glared, but didn’t comment.
“If you survive, I need help setting up a PC here.”
Wil blinked. “I guess that is fair if I survive. If.” Wil shook his head. This was so… odd.
“You’ll survive I think. You just. . you won’t like me for a few days.”
Wil nodded. Z had to admit the guy did carry character. He didn’t fuss or plead or say stupid things that most desperate people speak. This guy could be a strong ally for the Protectors.
“We’ll see,” Wil spoke softly. Defeated.
Boredom sat in on Z. The absolute worse type of depression possible to contain. He looked at his watch and realized it was time for some actually legit work.
|