It is inevitable in this world that people will make poor choices. My life was one poor choice after another.
As I walked down some street, in some stupid city, my heels clacked against the concrete. The sound was the perfect onomatopoeia that could either be the sound of a stripper, or a successful business woman. Guess which one I am.
As I reached the stereotypical night club, with the stereotypical neon sign, the door swung open for me. A towering, muscular man looked at me with a sly smile on his face.
“We’ve been expecting you,” his blood shot eyes seemed to say.
I pushed through crowds of sweaty, dancing people that started to whistle at me. My face acted coy, as if I expected this response; my insides still cringed at how degrading it felt to live this life.
I reached the back of the club, and pushed through a bead curtain. How fitting. Sitting in the back was a group of people, waiting on my arrival. They looked up, their faces filled with sudden madness.
“Did you bring it?” one girl said with desperation in her voice.
Wordless, I threw the substance they so desired on the table. Their faces looked in awe.
I took a seat, as one man said “well, should we get started?”
He went through the tedious process of getting what we were all waiting so anxiously for. It then passed around and everyone’s eyes glazed over.
Once it reached me I took a deep sigh, I couldn’t live without it, but I hated being bound. Hated the way people on the street looked at me, as if they knew. Hated the strange things I saw, but knew weren’t actually there. I hated my empty wallet. I hated the emptiness my soul felt.
I stood up suddenly in a panic.
“I…I…have to….” It was too late, I fumbled on my words. Oh no. I’d done it now.
Everyone stood up suddenly.
“Is there something wrong with the stuff?” one man said angrily. The rest just had looks on their face that were a mixture of fear and drug induced rage.
“You’re not going anywhere.” one woman said, and they all started creeping towards me.
“Get her!” a voice screeched. I turned to sprint to the door, and promptly tripped on my heel. I felt a heavy body throw them self on top of me, which both crushed and knocked the wind out of me.
The same man who opened the door for me suddenly appeared, and said “oh, we have a runner do we? That’s unusual,” in an eerily calm tone. He picked me up with ease, and sat me down in a chair. I was too tired, too high, too weary to even fight him.
Three of the circle members walked over and surrounded my chair.
“You want to smoke, and abandon us, huh?” one of the skinnier, tattooed men said. “What’s wrong with the stuff? Tell us! Now”, he roared.
The tears started escaping. Shit. My tough girl persona started fading. I was then sobbing uncontrollably. “Nothing!” I sobbed, “I swear!”
The one girl, wearing a burgundy beanie, had sympathy in her eyes. “You guys, I believe her. Stop.”
“NO!” the man with big arms and a short beard wailed. “No one,” he paused eyes squinting, “leaves the circle. Let’s make her pay.”
I thought the her they were referring to was me, and my sobs grew louder. I threw my face in my hands. Every shred of dignity I had was out the door. After a few seconds, my head snapped up as I saw the men, inching towards the girl who had spoken up for me.
“No… please…” she said, desperation inching into her voice, “Please don’t hurt me!”
The tattoo guy pulled a lighter out of his pocket. “Get her,” he hissed.
“NO!” she screamed as the rest lunged onto her, pinning her down in seconds. She had more spirit than I did wriggling around desperately.
Tattoo guy sneered, and leaned down, igniting the lighter as he did.
One of her arms finally broke free. Unfortunately, tattoo guy still got to her, and the flame licked her arm. She shrieked, and her arm snapped back from the flames, blistering.
I was left with a moral dilemma. Do I sneak out the beaded door way, or do I attempt to help her?
I wish I could tell you I made the second choice. I wish I could tell you I was that fantastic of a person. I wish with all of my crippled heart.
I told you at the beginning of this story that my life was a series of bad choices. Unfortunately, things aren’t about to change now, and I slipped quietly through the beads without another word.
I wish I would have at least looked back, as my heels clacked out the door.
@writeworld
