It was a cool tuesday night when Bob took off of school in his little red car down to the wrong side of town. He tried to go down that part of town whenever he could, whenever he could handle it. It wasn't as often as he'd like to, but it was more often than he could have done a few months ago. He was always sure to grab a bouquet of flowers on his way over as well, he never wanted to arrive empty handed.
He parked his car and stood, looking at the setting sun. The sky was a pink and yellow mixture, as if it was painted by a skilled artist. The hill before him was littered with grey and brown and dark grey stone sculptures, a hill full of sadness. He walked through the path and took a sharp left, hiking up the hill that only had a scattered few plots.
Bob stood before a certain round and simple grave, his eyes locked onto the headstone. He had cried all the tears he had when he first discovered his death, cursing and sobbing for hours. Now, all the anger had left him. Whenever he visited his dearly departed, he was just left with a sad emptiness.
"Ethan..." Bob said aloud in the quiet cemetery. He liked hearing his name being said, even if he wasn't there to respond. "You look good, man."
He placed the flowers in front of the headstone and reread the inscription that he knew by heart. Ethan Samuel Harrison. April 9th, 1983-August 20th, 2003. Beloved son at rest, beautiful as a bright shining star.
He sighed longingly before pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "I wrote you a little something." Bob's voice cracked. "Dear Ethan. It's been hard since you've...been gone. But I kept living, like you've always wanted me to."
Bob looked at the grave, as if it could respond. He could still picture Ethan's face, still imagine what he'd look like laying motionless in his casket, wearing a shirt despite what he would have wanted.
A lump formed in his throat. He took off his glasses and clipped them to his shirt, looking at the grave instead of his paper. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm healthy and I-I'm not in trouble anymore. It's all cleared up."
A slight breeze moved the curls on his head, the cool air signaling that a chilly night was rolling in. "You know I love..." He blinked away tears. "You know that I miss you, but- I don't know. I'm fine." His hand rubbed at his eyes furiously, his body shaking with a tremor.
The grave sat, unmoved. The flowers rustled lightly in the breeze and Bob set his letter down with them.
Well, it was settled. He was getting fucked up tonight.
~
It wasn't hard for him to obtain molly, and it wasn't hard for him to take it. He didn't consider that a relapse, LSD wasn't a hard enough drug to even consider that.
Bob liked the feeling of molly. He liked feeling jittery and warm, he liked seeing the good hallucinations and he liked the euphoric state of it. He didn't care for the cravings, though. The craving of physical love, to be touched.
He wished he was selling himself again. Though he didn't like the chlamydia or the sex all that much, he liked the afterglow where he and his paying customer would lay in eachothers arms. But you couldn't pay someone to cuddle with you, that simply hadn't been invented yet.
He popped a pill and sat on the couch, waiting for the feeling of drifting away to happen. He watched tv for hours or just minutes, he couldn't be sure. All he was sure about was the intense loudness of the room. Several people were in his room, but he knew they werent real. Some guy was messing with his air conditioner, and another was poking through his dresser drawers. He thought it was annoying, but giving into his subconscious projections would just make it harder to get rid of.
