The Monsters We've Created

Prologue

The white powder was split neatly in vertical lines. One after the other they disappeared as teenagers crowded the already crowded pool table. Smashed solo cups littered the floor and the dim lighting made it impossible to distinguish a friends face from an enemy. As Mason walked through the crowd he couldn't make out the faces of his classmates. The thumping music making it impossible to differentiate the chattering around him.

His breathing began to slow while his heart began to rapidly beat. He walked in circles, in squares, anything to keep his raging heartbeat from overflowing into a mess of nothing. Then it was all a blur. The music and lights connected as one; The beat made his words slur while the lights persuaded his ears to throb. Hundreds of junkies entrapped in one building, bodies rubbing together, sloppily kissing one another. Boys and girls entangled.

Next came the pills. Scattered along the ground were hundreds, but the most important were in the dingy bathroom at the end of the hall. The safe haven where only the most important were invited, the VIPs to say the least. There, the drugs flowed freely in and out like a never-ending conveyer belt. They popped them like candy before returning to the party, some even lay in the bathtub like ragdolls, needles carelessly thrown about.

Finally making his way back into the mainroom, where the majority of the party resided, Mason lazily rested his eyes on the most infatuating site he'd ever seen. Colorful fists thrusted at one another, grunts soon following after. He sat on the couch in absolute wonderment and contemplated what his life had miraculously become. However, even the fight that resided less than ten feet away from him could not bring Mason back from wonderland. It wasn't until the doors burst open, the music shut off, and cops began to scatter about the place that he zoned back into reality. Without a care in the world, Mason got up, put his shoes on, and walked over to what seemed to be a friendly officer. Ignoring the multiple cops that had attempted to stop him, claiming he was of a "higher purpose", Mason let his fists carelessly flow in the direction of one officer in particular, a plum looking one with red hair and white eyes, an uncanny resemblance to a mushroom off of mario kart. When the officer was knocked off his feet as expected Mason was tackled to the ground, officially landing himself a cozy little bed in a metal room with four walls.

-

Jail wasn't exactly something Mason was unfamiliar with. Coming from a wealthy background, his family would pay off the police station and whoever else need be in order to keep the little "mishaps" under wraps. However, due to the considerably long night he had, his mother had finally decided he deserved a night in the tiny little room. Walking in circles seemed like the way to go until the coke wore off and he was left with a raging headache, glued to the springy bed in the corner. The comedowns were always the worst. Not long after the headache set in, a voice in a nearby cell starting singing. Of all things in this godforsaken world. Why in the hell would someone in a fucking jail cell start singing? His conscience was patronizing the off key voice, but he couldn't help but laugh at the tune of 'where is my mind' being sang quite terribly. The irony of the situation was remarkably witty in his hungover mind. He almost didn't realize he had started to hum along with it.

"Where is my mind? Way out in the water... see it swimmin'..."

"Could you shut up hitler? My ears are fuckin' bleeding!" Mason not so graciously slurred. His usual deep voice coming out as cracked and unmasculine. The squeaky voice immediately stopped, he could only imagine the common taken aback facial expression glued onto the face of his latest victim. Walking to the barred door of the cell he attempted to peak out the side. With no luck he once again felt hopeless, "can I get some Ibpropheun??" he questioned the hazing guards.

"Excuse me?" an incredulous voice questioned, "you have the audacity to ask for ibuprofen after you openly criticized my singing? I don't think so, I hope your head explodes."

Mason gave a frustrated groan before returning to his seat,

"I wasn't talking to you dipshit. I was talking to the guards."

Silence was what responded. And when he looked up it wasn't the girl with the screeching voice that was presented before him but a man dressed in a neat uniform with a neat tie.

"You're free to go," he claimed as he unlocked the door with jiggling keys. With a crooked grin and evil eyes Mason got up and walked out.

"Add it to my tab."

As he walked out he could hear George, the plump guard nearly choke on his own break before yelling "when are you going to close it Mason?'"

***