Ecstasy: An Original Story

|Two|

It was dark, and so Walter was not woken by the sun, but rather the sirens.

Sitting up in his creaking bed, he squinted hard against the darkness of his apartment. It was night time. Walter must have slept through the day, but he was alright with that. He had always been a night-owl, and the darkness brought out more fun than the day did anyhow. As for the sirens, they were probably just chasing another perp. Walter was not ashamed to say that he didn't exactly live on the best side of town.

Getting dressed in jeans and a navy blue hoodie, he left his apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind him. He didn't have anything of value in his apartment to protect with a locked door. The only thing he even had that was of value to Walter were the three things he had in his pockets: his phone, his wallet, and his pill case, which was unfortunately empty.

Being sure to keep his head low to the ground, Walter walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets through the dark streets, which were only vaguely illuminated by broken street lights and the moon that shone like a nickel through a polluted sky. He tenderly stepped over the sleeping homeless that littered the sidewalk like discarded cigarette ends.

After walking some time, Walter ultimately found himself in front of the pristine golden gates that guarded the center of the city— where those who could afford to buy real pills lived. The ones Walter owned were either smuggled, or made by scratch. But he didn't mind the side effects.

Grazing his fingertips along the golden gates, he went to the guard post station, where a fat man sat, shuffling a deck of cards. As Walter approached, the police officer regarded him with a scowl on his mustached face and a disposition of utter disgust.

Walter ran his fingertips through his greasy hair to attempt looking some-what presentable. "Good evening sir." The far man grunted, his left hand deserting the deck of cards and going to rest his side, as if waiting to shoot Walter where he stood. "Are you going to shoot me, sir?"

"Move along boy, and maybe I won't." The police officer answered gruffly, "We don't like you kind so close to the fence."

Walter grimaced to himself. His kind were the children of those who didn't have enough money to pay for documentation, and therefore could not live in cities with those who were documented, or even get new pills. Walter disregarded the comment, and smiled at the officer, to which he returned with a grunt of distaste.

"I'm here for my cleaning occupation, sir. I'm in service to the Dunmourough household on Cherry and Sabbath?" Walter pulled out a thin plastic card out of his wallet. It read: Walter Erwin O'Connell, age twenty-two, five foot ten inches, brown hair, brown eyes, Identification number MS238-011. Everything but the number was accurate.

The officer took the card from Walter and scanned it over with his eyes, the scowl on his face growing deeper into his features. After some moment of contemplation, he returned the card and pressed the small black button on the gate console. Slowly, creakingly, the golden gates pulled themselves open, allowing Walter to enter. And so, he did.

Regarding the inner city, they were no more different layout-wise than the outer streets lined up the same, the lights were dim, and the street was only slightly less cracked than the ones Walter typically trotted. The differences laid in the sheer silence and the all-around cleanliness. Rather than blurring sirens and littered sidewalks, there was there was the quiet of a sleeping city and not a single morsel of trash was to be found.

Walter had only partially lied to the man at the gate. He was, in fact, going to the corner of Cherry and Sabbath, home of the Dunmorough clan. But, rather than cleaning their home as he had said, he would be cleaning something else: cleaning them out of their medication. Walter went to the front door, and pulled the key out from under the small potted plant on the porch. He inserted the key, twisted it, and let himself inside the home.

Closing the door behind him, Walter found himself in the all-too familiar parlor the he had visited often before. He stepped quietly, avoiding the areas on the hardwood that would cause creaking, and went directly to the kitchen. He carefully opened the second cabinet to the right of the refrigerator, and pulled out a large plastic case, setting it on the table. He licked his lips with anticipation, for it had been two days since he had last had a pill.

Removing the plastic lid, Walter eyed his selection. The Dunmorough family had obviously visited the pharmacy in the last couple of days, as a rainbow of medication lay before him. There were red sleeping pills, white dreaming pills, yellow for learning, blue for speed, and even a few ones Walter didn't recognize— particularly, a purple pill with a blue stripe.

His fingers twitched with excitement as he hastily filled his pill case to the brim, and stuffed some in his pockets. Once again eyeing the mysterious purple and blue capsule, he starched it up and popped it in his pill without water. Walter swallowed hard.

Within seconds, Walter felt a warm burst in his chest, and his hands grew hot to the touch. His muscles throbbed and his pupils dilated. But, even with his heightened senses, he didn't noticed Mr. Stephen Dunmorough until Walter had been throughly punched in the jaw.

Walter hit the floor, his head slamming on the tile. Struggling to his feet, his hand reached back to the wound, feeling a sticky and wet substance. Pulling his hand away, he saw that his fingertips were in fact an ungodly dark red color. Standing, he faced Stephen and punched him directly in his gut. This is how Walter found out what the pill was.

Mr. Dunmorough was jolted back into the wall, leaving a crevice where his body hit, before slamming hard against the floor. He didn't move, and was deadly still. Walter approached carefully, looking for a sign of life.

But before he could kneel to the man, his head was struck by a baton, and he fell, crumpled on the floor. He felt the cold sting of cuffs on his wrists and blood pool at his head, seeing officers flood the home. Walter blacked out, being dragged to some sort of detainment unit. But, at least he had his pills.