Page 78 - KJS_English_Storybook_3Taylor

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By: Wynne

It was 11 September 2021.
One less year alive. I lit up the birthday cake and blew it.

My phone buzzes.
Hopefully, I glance over to the table across. Scanning the bright screen staring at

me and I stood up and strolled over.

“Someone cares?” he whispers. “There is no way, you fool.”

No one sent me back a message. It was my overdue assignment.

Exhausted.

My weary body wobbled over to the counter, and I slammed my head against the
tabletop.

“What did I do to deserve this?” I screeched in agony.

Pulling the drawer open and reaching my hand into it. I diffidently grabbed the

bag filled with an eerie white powder and threw myself on the couch. I unveiled
the wrinkled bag and poured it on the stained coffee table. Cocaine brushed on
my table like smoke: similar warmth, different feeling.

I relapsed.
I grabbed a drink, I don’t remember what it was, but I drank the whole thing. I felt
warmth run through my body, like a hug from my dad. I shot up the cocaine up
my nose. It felt like a billion knives penetrating my head, and I felt elated, the

happiest I felt in a while. I was way above the clouds, and I felt untouchable. But
pouring guilt started to fill my system as blood poured down my nostrils and eye
sockets, splashing on my thighs. My head was spinning while my body started to
lose consciousness. I was losing myself slowly, but it felt like I lost myself a long
time ago. I fell asleep, but I never woke up the same. I saw my body, all grey,

infested with insects. I tried to wake up, but my body stayed asleep.

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