FUJIMOR h.s

3

The plastic packet stared back at me in a taunting manner, beckoning my very existence as it glistened under the bulbs of my ceiling lights.

I was very familiar with drugs. My first brush with marijuana began when I bought some at age 12. I was told it'd mess up my brain, more specifically my memory and I can confidently say my excessive use at such a young age has affected me greatly. Though marijuana hadn't affected me as bad as the drugs I have been surrounded by just living in this apartment complex. My supplements are technically drugs, they keep me up and increase my heart rate just as any energy booster would but they are not entirely close to dangerous. The habits and lifestyle I possess are detrimental to my health, but that is not the drug's fault. Oxio and Owen were excessive marijuana users, but nearly everyone in the district was, along with a new drug discovered when digging into the surface. I wondered if the crystalline substance given to me by Owen was in fact that product, but Zumi would have been able to recognize it as kimbie. That drug in itself was entirely too destructive for more than one use in a lifetime. For me at least. I was told it had been created to kill off certain homeless men and women who gave off the impression that they wouldn't get any better. Kimbie is often watered down and crushed into a small powder for those who use it often, giving them a certain feeling of euphoria that lead to extreme bursts of energy. The dangerous trait of the drug depended on the person. It was given to homeless people who expressed that they were already on their way to killing themselves. Kimbie gave them the further confirmation that they were not needed nor wanted, and often pushed them to commit suicide.

    Many saw this as inhumane and unreliable. Though we were told they weren't needed in this society and couldn't contribute in any way.

    And still, amongst thinking about homeless men and women dying, the lives of both Oxio and Owen, kimbie and marijuana, the thought of taking the drug enhanced in great size. There was a sudden emotional rush analogous to the feeling I'd get right before smoking marijuana. The fact that I hadn't smoked in so long physically pushed me closer to the packet that sat on my seating mat. Maybe Owen knew this. Maybe he hadn't recently discovered the pungent smell of weed through the vents, and decided to give me a certain push. I had avoided him ever since Oxio expressed her interest in getting me into the prostitution corridors. I knew he'd back her up because of his greed for pornography films and his disturbing interest in my body. A day wouldn't go by that I didn't feel his eyes watching my every move. I cursed my surrogate for giving me child bearing hips, both because I had no interest in having kids and because I couldn't stand shielding my body from men who found me sexually appealing.

    My fingernails dug into the pockets of my large sweatshirt. It smelled like the lavender I picked from the greenhouse earlier that day. I could hear Zumi cricketing around in my small home and cursed before sitting up to pace. The cool cement floor felt foreign to my feet. I often wore socks because cold extremities lead to illnesses I didn't feel comfortable treating with my distrust in medicine. Another string of curse words traced my mind as I tried to stop myself from distractions. The faster I took the drug, the less I had to worry about it, and the faster I'd choose whether I'd purchase it from Owen again or not. The whole ordeal was stressful; it wasn't like I was worried of dying, I had come to terms with death after watching criminals getting murdered for sport during government games. I'd placed myself in their shoes many times. I would never be as dangerous as those who get sent onto the field, but it occured to me that they were humans. They had a beating heart just as I did. They witnessed normal occurrences just as I did, picked their second name at age 16, If raised in the right home, given basic morals. The point was that people, were dying and their life had been viewed miniscule because of a mistake. Their death viewed as entertainment summed in just thirty minutes. Often an hour if they put up a good fight.