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A Day In the Life of...an Addict

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Abdulbasit Asif 10SBe A Day In the Life of... an Addict He was wake. It was already there, that feeling, that craving. He rose from his dirty brown sofa and stared at his reflection, studying the bags under his eyes. He had once been an 'all right' guy as some would say. He wasn't anything anymore. Without it, he was cold, alone just a person on his own and nothing meant a thing to him, just as he meant nothing to everyone. He missed that euphoric feeling it gave him; it had become his girlfriend, his God, his mother and his career. It was the reason he had dropped out of college, the grip it had on him was so tight that he needed to stick a syringe in his arm numerous times throughout the day just to function. Brian had tried to kick his habit, but like most addicts it was without success. It was the only thing in life he could rely on to make him happy. ...read more.


When he was just nine years old his mother's new boyfriend didn't want kids around and his mother abandoned him. What had he done wrong? He then had gone to live with his heroin-addicted brother for some time, before leaving to fend for himself on the streets. He learned how to 'steal to survive', which was what he was going to do right now. He waited for the post office to open, pensioners were a quick way of raising funds for his habit. An frail old woman appeared out of the post office, it was the opportunity he had been waiting for. He gave a quick tug and took the bag, he had done it, now he had to run. He stopped running when he realised there was no one chasing him. His conscience came into play. She was just an old woman he thought to himself, how could he be so heartless? ...read more.


He then grabbed a belt and tied it tightly around his arm to stop the blood flow, this will caused the veins to stand out for easier injection. He knew what he was doing. The deeper he stuck it in his vein, the deeper the thoughts, there was no more pain. He was there, in that other place. He was in heaven, he was God. Brian lay on his sofa, his mind in euphoria. He had vomited, he didn't notice, the vomit travelled back down his throat and he choked to death. He was dead, his body lay on the sofa, his skin pocketed with needle marks, scored by more than a decade of abuse. Small knots of scar tissue covered the thin lines of his veins. A fresh needle track burns dead centre, a glowing purple reminder of the drug that defined his life. He had gave heroin his life and it had destroyed him. If Brian had known that this would occur, he probably would still have done what he did. He wouldn't have been able to help himself, he was an addict... ...read more.

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