Death and Rebirth/The prelude to the Third Life

Left to rot in an alleyway somewhere, I guess it is my own fault, the broken needle laying not so far away from my bloodless body, realizing now, in death, that nothing comes for free, that even heroin cost me my life... Still curious as to why I feel and think after death, calmly interpreting the events as a black cloud descends upon my vision, leaving me only with flashbacks, of the club, the woman, all mystery and piercing eyes... Those eyes... They called me in to some place darker...

I used to work for the city of Chicago. I was once a social worker on a street outreach program. Things were Alright, I guess. I would be out all hours of the night getting kids inside shelters, aiding the law enforcement with drug busts, but it always came down to the kids... I couldn't let them into the life I led...

When the woman suggested I shoot up with her out back, I couldn't resist. Now knowing the "Followers" as being corruptive Vampires, I wonder if she had used some mind trick on me... I often dream she did, on the slim chance that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't an addict. But the cold truth hits me like a brick. I was, am an addict. Even in death, I can hear it calling, promising release...

Drugs were a hobby of mine, my recreation and relaxation. I guess I was the big hypocrite. Telling all these kids that "there is no hope with dope", then turning around and pumping full of heroine. I guess I was simply asking for my end.

I don't know what is happening... I try so hard to wipe the darkness from my eyes, to clear my head as I rise, pulling my body up from the stained pavement. I can hear the music pumping in the club, feel the glass syringe crunch under my boot as I step into the street... My first instinct is to go into the club... Drag the bitch out by her fucking hair and break her skull open, but for some reason, I can't..

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written by Curt