The View From Rock Bottom

The wooden floor in her closet had a shiny gloss coating. It slightly reflected her face by the flame of the Bic lighter she held. She liked sitting on the floor in there because it was small. It was safe. Cozy.

By this time her pupils almost enveloped her iris. She knelt down, face to the floor and skewed her eyes across, scanning almost psychotically for remnants she may have missed.

When you're addicted, too much is never enough.

She took the pads of her fingers and tried to collect the minuscule shards of crystal to load back into her pipe. From the outside she appeared to be shaking, but inside she felt euphoric and complete. There was nothing quite like this feeling. And nothing else could take away the sadness.

As she lit the bulb, carefully, as if art and science together created such a ritual, her head spun with new and fantastic ideas. In this moment of grandiosity, she was a philosopher. She was higher than the angels. She was lighter than air.

She put down her utensils and stared for the moment at her legs, criss-crossed on the floor. On the outside, she looked like a skeleton. But on the inside, she felt beautiful. She loved the way her clothes draped over her bones. She loved the way her hips would jut out; the only thing to hold her pants up. The only thing she didn't love were the sores collecting on her skin. But she couldn't help but pick at them.

As she exhaled deeply, thick clouds of poisonous smoke escaped her lips. The smell was always the same, one of burning plastic. On the outside it was vile and disgusting, but to her it felt like home. That smell was so familiar. So comforting. It inspired her.

She pulled out a pad of paper and decided to draw. When your focus was slowed down to a millisecond, but your ideas were speeding like a bullet train, magic would unfold. She concentrated on the small spirals that collected on her notepad, in a trance-like state, before her heart rate began to speed.

At first she didn't pay attention to the rapid pace of the beating, but then her chest began to hurt and her eyes swelled. She started to panic.

She gripped her chest and her pen fell to the floor. She fell back from her sitting position in her closet as the thought of never seeing age 18 washed over her. She reached for her phone, to ask for some kind of help, but she was too weak. She stared up at the ceiling in her closet, and in one, crystallized moment, she saw from the outside. 


Published by Shawn Engel


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