Happy Little Pill

Introducition

Your name is Dave Strider and at the age of 17, you have officially lost all control over your life.

It all began two months ago, when your Bro died. You didn't even know about it until an hour later, when you received a phone call from the police.

"'Sup?" You said, answering the screaming phone that hung on the wall of your and bro's apartment. You notice some dust on the old phone that has wiped off onto your shirt when you tucked the damned thing between your cheek and shoulder, you made a face. Jesus fuck why did you two even have this? And why was someone calling you? No one ever called through the wall phone, you and Bro just gave out your cellphone numbers instead. Come to think of it you don't even know the number to this phone..

"Hello, this is Jeffrey Marsh, I work for the Houston Texas police department, and I would like to know if there is any relatives to a, Dirk Strider, that I can speak with." The man on the other end spoke with a firm voice with authority.

Your skin crawls for a minute. Oh shit, what the hell did Bro do this time? It must've been pretty serious if Jeffery fucking Marsh is calling you(you actually have no idea who he is).
You feel a pit in your stomach while your throat constricts, making you a little nervous to trust your voice. Weird.

You move the phone to your hand and realize that you're sweating. What the fuck. Your heart beat increase and you feel a sudden urge of dread to answer the police officer.

You swallow a lump in your throat and clear it.

"Speaking?" You say, your voice cracking a bit causing you to clear your throat yet again.

Jeffery sighs, not out of annoyance or the lack of energy, he just... sighs.

You can feel your heart at drop to your feet, while your stomach churns uncomfortably.

"Son, I regret to inform you this, but...." He pauses, you know he's debating on whether or not to tell you what the fucked happened with your bro, especially because you sound like a twelve year old on the phone.

"..What.?"

"Dirk Strider has been murdered..."

Your Bro just so happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. The guy who had murdered him was nothing more than just another scum of the Earth, robbing fucking gas stations to earn a little pocket money. When the guy pointed the gun to the lady behind the register, Bro decided to play the hero card and tried to fight him off, but everybody knows that you don't bring a knife to a gunfight. Everybody knows that. Your Bro managed to cut a couple of important arteries before getting shot three times in the torso, none of which were fatal if treated right away. But no. The police decided to take their sweet ass time to get there before it was too late, but they were. They were too. Fucking. Late.

He was found cradled in the arms of the lady behind the counter, he was covered in blood. It seemed as if the worker tried to stop the bleeding with their vest, but in the end it just wasn't enough.

His funeral service was held several days after the attack. Not a lot of people came to show up, it was mostly you, two girls with blonde hair just like yours, the employee that he gave his life for, and the employee's family.

You didn't cry.

You didn't cry when you saw a picture of Bro near a casket. You didn't cry when you saw the coffin that held bro's body. You didn't cry when you received an urn filled with bro's ashes.

You didn't cry.

You couldn't cry. Bro taught you to never cry over something as stupid as his death, but you couldn't help it when you saw all of his belonging being handled recklessly by the movers. You couldn't help it once you received Lil' Cal. You couldn't help it once they gave you his shades.

You ended up moving to Washington with the two blondes that attended his funeral, apparently the older one was very close with him and he trusted her enough to legally give her the label of your 'godmother'. You can't tell if he did it for the irony or not.

The woman you moved in with is named Roxy Lalonde. She is accompanied by her daughter, Rose Lalonde, who is your age and is a little short compared to you. As much as you were skeptical about them, you find yourself liking them more than you thought you would. You can't tell if you latched onto them so quickly out of desperation or the thought that they knew bro. Either way you don't really care, you don't care about a lot of things anymore.

You find yourself moved into the Lalonde house hold in less than six days. You didn't really have that much stuff to being with, and all the stuff that Bro owned was put into a room that was organized like his old one back in Texas.

Roxy gives you two weeks off of school before enrolling you into the one that Rose has been attending. You silently thank her for that.

When you started school, you ended up hanging around the wrong crowd and got hooked on some bad addictions. It's not as if Rose shunned you, in fact it was the exact opposite. She wanted you to stick around her, she begged you to. She knew with the vulnerable state that you were in, that you would do something stupid and end up damaging your health or your education. You avoided her at school. You didn't need anyone to look after you, Bro raised you well enough for you to be able to fend for yourself, and that meant taking no one's pity.

Long story short, you ended up sampling some shit and got hooked right away, you also tap into something different but very rarely do you ever do so. But, today just so happens to be one of those rare occasions so that's how you find yourself here. Laying on your carpeted floor in your new room, staring into the ceiling with a small bag of blotting papers in your hand, the dinky squares have smiley faces on each and every one of them. The ceiling is twisting and turning as your body feels light and relaxed. The few colors in your room are whispering to you in an unknown tongue, it some how soothes you.

You don't really trip on acid that much, only because it's high takes a very long time to die down, so you only really tap into it when you're feeling extremely stressed. Today was one of those day where the Mary Jane just couldn't calm your neves well enough.

You lay there for another 30 minutes before you even begin to feel the effects wear off. 

You can't help but throw an arm up and over your eyes as you think about how Bro would be responding to this, if he were still alive to catch you committing your crimes. He would be disappointed in you.

A small tear rolls down the side your temple.