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Description
500 word 'flash fiction', entitled Girl with the Golden Eyes
The liquid bubbled in the spoon, sending waves upon waves of that sweet scent glistening into the room. I inhaled, anticipating that warm feeling, the hit, the sweet shock to my system.
Dimly, I knew that this was wrong (so, so wrong), but this, this pollution that I would willingly (so, so willingly) plunge deep into my veins would not just be my downfall; it would be my saviour. It takes me to places I want to go, it shows me all that has been kept hidden. With this, I can fly. With this, I can fall. Either way I go, I do knowing that I tried my best on the road that led nowhere. Either way I go, I go knowing that I had had my fair share of tingling taste buds, for I had tasted both the bitter cold and the comforting warmth of a life subject to Her slavery.
And oh, was She a good master.
I could feel Her now, coursing through my veins again, racing towards my heart, only to start another journey through my system. I could feel Her now, caressing my capillaries, soothing my hurt, anger, my deficiencies no longer hold me back; she gives me the wings with which I fly. I trust Her with my life.
Mouth dry, heart slow. I scream just to hear a sound. Ends with the insane laughter ripping from my throat. Like lightening, I jump to my feet, heading for the door. I need this! This confirmation that I'm living, this knowledge that I'm alive, that I'm here, that I can feel this! No, no, that was wrong. She didn't make me feel, no. She made me numb. Numb from the pain, numb from the crawling, that itching, the million legs of an army of bugs working their way up my body. She held them at bay, whilst whispering Her sweet nothings into my ears.
She is my army, my saviour, my life, my soul, my heart.
She is me, just as I am Her.
As she releases me from her gratifying embrace, I lay on the cold, concrete ground. The needle, my artists' brush, dripping once, twice, the golden droplets wasted on the floor. I am awash with the feelings that She, the Girl with the Golden Eyes, painted through my body. The euphoria wares away and I am ambushed by the guilt, knowing that I had fallen. Again.
Thirty minutes ago, I could have killed somebody.
Or better yet, myself.

Description
500 word 'flash fiction', entitled Girl with the Golden Eyes
The liquid bubbled in the spoon, sending waves upon waves of that sweet scent glistening into the room. I inhaled, anticipating that warm feeling, the hit, the sweet shock to my system.
Dimly, I knew that this was wrong (so, so wrong), but this, this pollution that I would willingly (so, so willingly) plunge deep into my veins would not just be my downfall; it would be my saviour. It takes me to places I want to go, it shows me all that has been kept hidden. With this, I can fly. With this, I can fall. Either way I go, I do knowing that I tried my best on the road that led nowhere. Either way I go, I go knowing that I had had my fair share of tingling taste buds, for I had tasted both the bitter cold and the comforting warmth of a life subject to Her slavery.
And oh, was She a good master.
I could feel Her now, coursing through my veins again, racing towards my heart, only to start another journey through my system. I could feel Her now, caressing my capillaries, soothing my hurt, anger, my deficiencies no longer hold me back; she gives me the wings with which I fly. I trust Her with my life.
Mouth dry, heart slow. I scream just to hear a sound. Ends with the insane laughter ripping from my throat. Like lightening, I jump to my feet, heading for the door. I need this! This confirmation that I'm living, this knowledge that I'm alive, that I'm here, that I can feel this! No, no, that was wrong. She didn't make me feel, no. She made me numb. Numb from the pain, numb from the crawling, that itching, the million legs of an army of bugs working their way up my body. She held them at bay, whilst whispering Her sweet nothings into my ears.
She is my army, my saviour, my life, my soul, my heart.
She is me, just as I am Her.
As she releases me from her gratifying embrace, I lay on the cold, concrete ground. The needle, my artists' brush, dripping once, twice, the golden droplets wasted on the floor. I am awash with the feelings that She, the Girl with the Golden Eyes, painted through my body. The euphoria wares away and I am ambushed by the guilt, knowing that I had fallen. Again.
Thirty minutes ago, I could have killed somebody.
Or better yet, myself.