Wednesday's Three Word Wednesday

The words over at Three Word Wednesday are crush, knack and varied.

The Crush

She hadn’t had a hit in hours; the twist in her guts was like a schoolgirl’s crush, but sour like bile.
She hugged her knees to her chest on broken concrete steps littered with cigarette butts and bits of wind-torn plastic. The landing was dark, the only light shed by a bare bulb in the hall that was the only sign that the big Victorian wasn’t vacant and abandoned, like all the others on the block.
The slivers of leaded glass in the oak door had long ago been kicked and punched free; bits of yellowed newspaper covered the holes and swelled and pulsed with the breeze, a dying patient in an already dead neighborhood.
Her eyes, once brilliant hazel, were sunken, hollow. A sore on her lip that never healed; the place where the hot crack pipe delivered its sweet relief.
There’s a smell about her, sweat, dirt, despair. She knows this and there is a tiny square of shame about it that the drugs can’t seem to dissolve.
Her 18th birthday is next week and she’s planning to take one more hit and that’s it. Then it’s back home to Kansas, Dorothy, back to school, back away from the streets. Yeah, she thought, one more hit. One more. And shuffle on down the road.
The drugs hadn’t pushed away all the plans. Not just yet.
But then, she had a knack for big dreams when she tripped. Lives varied upon the day, how much she was able to score. In them, she wasn’t emancipated, a talking skeleton with brown, picket-fenced teeth. She ate in fancy places, with real silver, and not that cheap, sugary bagged cereal – stale mostly – with water instead of milk. Milk’s hard to boost and, well, it cost money and money is for drugs, silly rabbit.
She released her legs, stretched them to their full length. She put a filthy hand on a bent metal rail, brought herself to standing. She scanned the block slowly, knowing what she had to do. It still bothered her, and that gave her hope.
The men who shuffled like zombies liked it even more then drugs, needed it. Their sex, their money.
Her last hit.

19 comments:

Jeeves said...

Nice one

Jeeves said...

Nice one

Fledgling Poet said...

A tragic story and, as always, you paint such a vivid picture. I felt such sadness for this girl.

Neverending Story said...

A smooth read, the words pulling me along. Sore enough of her world to sense the bile, very sad.

anthonynorth said...

Tragic. You write so real and gritty. A great style.

gautami tripathy said...

Very visceral..

sudharm baxi said...

That is really hell of a style, keep going, i simply love it..

rebecca said...

Tough read and unnerving, hits one one in the gut...yet these are usually the emotions good writers unearth in their readers. The tragic stories you weave...one feels as if we are right there witnessing it all. They are excellent.

Ofira Sephiroth said...

Awesome story and true to life. Well done.

Witchmojo said...

Wow! Absolutely love your knack for description. Great piece.

lissa said...

sad story, sadder to know such things do happen...

Lucy said...

WoW Thom! Can u write a story! gripping and very emotional!
I just learned yesterday of a friend of a friends daughter hooked on heroine and this just gave me shivers for that poor kid
great words, descriptive, moving piece.

Tumblewords: said...

Raw truth with well shown emotion. Superb writing, superb.

SweetTalkingGuy said...

Descriptive writing! almost like a fly on the wall account, but with the bonus of voicing her thoughts too!!

Angel said...

Sad. Even more so because it's reality for so many.

bitchyangel said...

nice one..

susan said...

Hey Thom, liked this but the twist doesn't really have a taste, it's a feeling- like you need to move your bowels, cramping. Very anxious, guilt-ridden and you feel driven to get high. At the stage you're describing, the addict is sick of getting high but can't quit and usually doesn't lie to herself about getting high, not while she's planning to cop anyway. The lying happens later after the high not while plotting to cop. And when you're high on crack you don't dream, but fret; consumed with making the hit last. The longer you've been addicted,the shorter the high lasts and the addict fiends for another hit before she's even finished the rock she's smoking.

My uncle died of an overdose more accurately his heart burst from an overdose. I've known too many addicts. The epidemic was fierce here in the 90s.

I didn't mean to go on, but this one hits home. Real personal.

Ann (bunnygirl) said...

Deep addiction is about wanting to die while lacking the courage to do it decisively. This piece has a dirty, edgy feel that picks up on some of that nicely.

one more believer said...

hi thom loved the description of the neighborhood and then onto the meat.. it is so like that... the belly the mind... the hopelessness... but thrz always sex offering new found hope of another hit... ouch!!!.. sex for sale yep... hasn't changed much throughout the centuries...