L.I.F.E. (Living In Fear of Everything)

Section 1

I knew I had made a fatal mistake. Taking two Ozones while still burning from a Fluke injection wasn't my brightest moment of critical thinking. I could feel the raging torrent through my entire existence, as if a pure form of raw energy were tearing through my bloodstream. If that wasn't enough to do me in for the next day or so, I downed the two smallish black pills without a second thought. Ozones are aptly named for their capabilities: they're uppers for sure, but aren't healthy to stay on. Then again, most recreational drugs aren't safe to use, yet a vast majority of people still abuse them. They normally have a slow onset, but the excessive amounts of Fluke in me sped up and amplified the effects, which I felt immediately. The table in front of me blurred into a mesh of brown, as the floor became a pasty green. The last thing I recall was the feeling of weightlessness, skydiving upwards through the clouds, explosions of color behind my trembling eyelids. The wind rushed up to greet me.

It was days before I awoke. Over dosage is a hell of a burden, but overdosing on two drugs? How I didn't kick the bucket then is beyond me. I had slept over two complete days from the time of my experimentation; the regret should have been apparent. However, I felt no remorse for what I did. I felt strangely calm upon awakening, almost like my true self had emerged, breaking the surface for the initial time. Numbed, I made it to my armchair before collapsing. What the hell was wrong with me? I felt immensely weak, my muscles wet tissues stretched beyond the point of reparation. Thankfully, there was a spare Ozone left lying on the table from days earlier. I swallowed it down without a drink, and waited patiently for the high to come rushing back. I didn't have to wait long; it was mere minutes and I was skiing on clouds again. I floated into the kitchen, needing some form of liquid to sate my dire thirst. The fridge was flying faster than I was, so I searched for an alternative option. The sink was glowing too bright, and breathing too loud; I wouldn't want to get near it and smell its breath. On the brink of extinction, salvation landed under my foot. I performed a back flip, face first into the cool freshness of life itself. I grew cold, my appendages desperately wanting to become numb. This wasn't right. I woke up.

Face down in a puddle of water, soaking wet, sweat and lukewarm tap water mixing on my skin. I pushed myself up, surveyed the damage. Satisfied with nothing terribly serious, I began the voyage to my bedroom. Halfway across the kitchen, I realized it hadn't worn off quite yet. The clock screamed at me, baring its teeth. I hurtled my trampoline frantically, anything to avoid the onslaught had I stayed behind. Fear pushed me forward, until I found solace in my room. The air was frigid, the door wouldn't close properly, my sheets were playing hangman. Typical bedroom problems, I assumed, as I wallowed in the arid wasteland. No comfort to be found, evil lurking just a mile away, I stumbled onto the remainder of my bed. Darkness swooned in immediately, yet I fought it away. I refused to die like a coward; this life had so much more to offer, I was the one to take it. Vibrant fear invaded me, a cloud of malice and disdain. I felt the cold metal, the polish of heaven; it was specifically constructed for this purpose. To fight fear, knowledge must become prevalent. I knew. I knew all the answers, but none of the questions. Where did that leave me? Impartial? I smiled, cheesed one final time for the big picture, and pulled.

I should have known. Leaving Carrey at his house for the weekend alone was a bad idea. He hadn't answered his phone in days now, and I was beginning to worry. I knew most weekends, he would lock himself in his apartment and do Ozone. I hated him for it, had asked him to stop, even offered to pay for detox kits and therapy. One refusal after the next, he denied ever having a problem with abusing substances. I knew I should have cancelled my plans with Vivian, or cut our trip a day short, to swing by Carrey's and ensure he was alright.

Monday morning, I couldn't take it anymore. Too many missed calls, I immediately drove over to his house. The door was locked, but I picked it as I had done many times previously. Bastard wouldn't get me a key cut for his door, even though I was his best friend. The door sagged open, and instantly the acrid stench of sweat and gunpowder socked me. What the hell had been going on in here? The kitchen was a total clusterfuck, and there were scratches on the floorboards leading into his bedroom. The door was slightly cracked, so I eased it open, to discover singlehandedly the most terrifying scene. Carrey lay on the bed, a pistol in his right hand, still held against his temple. Dark red blood and black matter were sprayed across the bed, as there was a gaping hole in his head. Disregarding the smell, I rushed forward to him. He hung limply forward, unanimated. I felt his neck for a pulse, and felt nothing but an absurd cold sweat. If he was dead, how was he sweating? The answer wouldn't format properly in my mind. I snatched him up, and ran to my car. I knew the route to the hospital by heart; Vivian worked there part time. The nurses thought I had killed him, and I found not the words to speak the truth. I didn't even know what happened, I just wanted Carrey to be okay. I was reassured they would do their utmost to prolong his end, as I was directed to a waiting chair. To wait.