Thursday SHORTS vol.2

The LAST HIGH

The tunicate was tied tight, he hands shook as the needle neared his vein. The jumpiness would end in seconds. The warmth and the calm he was addicted to swam up his arm as he emptied the syringe. He dropped the needle to the ground and sat back to revel in the sensation flowing through his body.

A strange light flashed before his eyes in the darkness of the warehouse filled with the putrid stench of junkies. He feared it was a police flashlight, but when he looked up he saw two kids. A boy about eight and a little girl no older than three, holding tight to a limp teddy bear.

“You kids shouldn’t be here,” he mumbled through the heroine haze surrounding him.
“Why?” the young boy asked. “Does this look like a safe place, kid?” The little girl looked up to the boy with eyes filled with concern as they looked around.
“But you’re supposed to be a fireman, so we’ll be safe,” The boy said with a confident smile. The little girl sat on the filth covered floor to play with her bear.
“What? I’m not a fireman.”
“That’s what you told me you would be. Is this what firemen do?”
“No, kid this is what junkies do,” he said trying to turn his body away from the children. “Is that a type of fireman?”
“No.”
“But that’s what you wanted to be, Randall.” They way the boy said that same turned the man to face the children. He blinked his eyes trying to focus in on the boy’s face.
“How do you know me?”
“We’re best friends. Well back when you wanted to be a fireman.”
“This must be bad stuff.” he said rubbing his arm. “Look kid I don’t have any eight year old best friends.”
"We were friends a long time ago, before I died.” The man’s mind reeled with memories. His childhood came flashing across his mind in a painful jolt. The boyhood friend, the fire, the pain.
“Malcolm?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“But you’re dead. And who is she?” Randall asked his eyes focusing on the rosy cheeked girl playing in a place lacking any joy or beauty without her glowing presence.
“Her name is Clara, and you were supposed to save her on your first night as a fireman.” Malcolm answered. Randall’s eyes filled with tears as he watched the child play.
“And you’re both dead?”
“Yes.”
“Am I dying?” Randall asked as his chest ached and his fingers trembled as Clara stood from playing and walked over to him. “I can change. I can be a fireman. I can save people.”
“Come play,” Clara said offering her hand to him. Randall could not refuse the little girl’s blue eyes. With her touch the pain in his chest subsided. It felt as though he stood but his legs didn’t move.
“Where will I go?” Randall asked as the children led him out of the warehouse. “We don’t decide.” Malcolm and Clara said in unison. Their answer surprised him. His mind raced over the events of his life. Had he been good enough? Had he smiled or helped enough? The soft fingers of Clara slipped out of his hands as his soul sank with each memory and fear filled him as the source of light drew near.