Past the Tipping Point

\ Chapter 1 /

Blurry city lights. The type you only see at fast speeds and with blurred eyes. Strings of light form into beams, fading away the rest of the world. Blue, red, green, yellow, spots of orange and the occasional purple. Varying in lengths and widths, changing every blink of the eye.

Hair blowing in the wind. As windows stay open all the way. Heads stick out, and hair whips around as aggressively as the air pressuring faces. Standing up in cars as bodies squeeze through sunroofs and hands wave wildly.

Music loud enough to burst eardrums. Walls reverberate with noise, beats felt through different floors. Music that can be heard three blocks down, even in the busiest of towns. In volumes that have the capability to block out everything and anything. Ears ringing, the buzz consuming everything else.

Is this what life feels like?

Liquid strong enough to change the world. Some for good, others for bad, all dependent on the nature of the person. Enough liquid to warm one's body, make you feel a buzz, and take over in a way that'd be impossible without.

Darkened alleys and various scents. Trouble lurking within dark corners and behind shadows. Trash bins block views and carry smells. Alleyways that can whisper of mystery and pleasure, yet violence and danger.

Disorienting shoes of once familiar buildings, distorted and looming over the ever so small human race. Suddenly amplified city noises. Cars driving by, horns honking, sirens off in the distance. All noises fluctuate in volume.

Problems hidden behind smiles. Hardships just below the surface, ones nobody knows or cares about enough to question. Shadows shift, playing tricks on the eyes, causing one to see the imaginary.

Am I alive?

Layers of sentiment bludgeoned by fury. Pasts are forced to be forgotten, no matter how hardly intertwined the connections are. Pushed past and buried far below six feet. Regret. Pain. History. A recipe for disaster at the best of times.

Is any of this actually real?

Smells strong enough to burn nostrils. Headaches brought on by one small whiff. Intoxicating pain, addictive even. No matter how strong the person.

Senses of self becoming fragmented more than ever. The unease of not knowing what words will leave your lips next. The impossibility of keeping a straight head as the night goes on, not knowing the moves you'll eventually make.

"Can you hear me?"

The idea of regret looming over heads. Not only for those in the act but for those watching, standing aside, condoning the behaviour simply by observing.

The sense of freedom spreads through veins. The feeling, so drenched in ecstasy, makes tomorrow's sorrow seem non-existent. Heightening the anticipation of things to come in the early hours of the night while the stars are shining and substances are in full effect.

This has to be it.

A single drop that has the ability to make the pain vanish momentarily. Yet momentarily, is just that. A single moment in time. One that cannot be responsible for making an eternity of heartache disappear.

Skin touching skin. Intentionally and not. Strangers and lovers are always interchangeable. A friend can become a stranger, and a nobody can become somebody. Partners can become enemies, and evil can evolve into good.

Rough edges and hard corners. Walls built high, literally and figuratively. The desire to say everything on your mind without filtering and nothing at all.

"Talk to me. What do you remember?"

Hard lines. Some lead to the washroom, an hour-long wait. Some on the table ahead, white and powdery, waiting to be ingested. The combinations are endless, deadly and euphoric.

The turning point: far out of sight. The end of stories and beginnings of others.

"Rebecca?"

A chance to right wrongs and rewrite pasts. Yet all the opportunity to ruin everything one's built. All the chance for change within your grasp, the capability of rewriting your future and leaving your past behind for good. It's all up to you. It's always up to you.

I'm... alive?

Sweat, blood, and tears. Happiness, sadness, and melancholy moments. A chance for everything to go right or wrong. Parallels can follow, but drastic differences can be made.

"Answer me."

Sitting still, watching the room come alive around you. Yet never feeling more dead inside. A savoury yet sweet combination of decisions to make and repercussions to have.

Back against a wall, eyes scanning the room ahead. Loud bars and quiet streets. The drastic differences and polar opposites are more evident than ever.

I'm alive?

Eyes, fighting to stay open, sleep begging to take its course. Still hearts hammering, refusing to calm. Minds present but still so far out of sight.

"Rebecca!"

Boisterous rooms full of personalities, good and bad, ugly and not. Fights waiting to happen. Hookups, breakups, and swirls of emotion present. The capability of acting responsibly yet the yearning to react impulsively.

Struggles get to be momentarily ignored. That's the most alluring point to some: the idea of getting to lead a life that isn't yours. Act completely differently than one would in daylight hours.

Life can be different. Nothing can stop you from making it a facade, an escape. The possibilities are endless. The stories are all yours for the taking. The life you lead is one of your choices. The decisions are yours to make. The consequences are too.

"Is she alive?"

I'm alive.

One drink too many is enough to change a life.

How am I still alive?

"How is she still alive?"

One drop too many is enough to make the greatest difference.

Life. Death. A fine line to walk.

In a world full of tragedy, distractions, and impulsivity, what would you do to feel a moment of freedom?