The war on drugs.
PLAN
vignette:
1. Druggie in dingy apartment
2. Takes drugs, bliss, police entering
3. In jail, sober, glim reality
ESSAY
In war both sides believe their motives are pure, true, and just. In a way it is about perspective,
which side of the fence you sit on and can relate more to. Wars are often fought on the basis of
liberating and freedom, and whilst the war on drugs rages on is freedom really being given to the
addicted as they are forced to face a harsh reality that they are trying to escape?
The lightbulb flickers, illuminating my dingy apartment, flies buzz over the full sink, lingering over the
food scraps that are present, their incessant flapping coupled with the dull hum of the ceiling fan an
ever-present white noise droning in my ears. The train rattles past, forcing a cold draft from the
turbulent air to rush into the room. I sit huddled in the corner as rush of air sends shivers up my
spine. I must escape this dim reality, and there is but one way. I shuffle over to the table and care
not for the layer of dust and grime that resides upon it. I only desire what is taped underneath, the
key to an escape so desperately craved, a glorious release from the depressing surrounds. The trace
of a smile cracks on my upper lip as I carefully loop an elastic band around my upper arm, adrenaline
surges through my system as it recognises what is about to come, a sweet escape from my
depressing surrounds.
I press the browning needle against my skin, the rust immaterial in my eyes as I only imagine what is
to come. Like a skilled nurse I find the vein and press until it is firmly in, the pain unnoticed as I start
the injection. It takes but a moment for the effects to kick in, a nice pure undiluted supply. My eyes
drift upwards and I collapse on the floor, staring at the ceiling fan, as it goes round and round, and
round, and round, and round, and round, and round… Than fan and time seems to slow down as I
can see each blade, twirling, twirling, twirling, round and, round, and round. How does it keep
spinning? I wonder. I see a small crack in the ceiling as I reside on the carpet, God the carpet is so
comfortable, I could lay here forever completely enveloped in its fluffy embrace. There is an
almighty thump at the door, but the carpet has me, it is unrelenting and firm. I cannot move. Now
there is shouting. “Leave me alone” I complain in a quiet slur, frustrated by the intrusion of my
escape. A blinding light erupts through the door as it careens open, followed by the shoutings of
“Police!” I remain on the floor, unmoving completely encapsulated by the carpet.
The dimly lit cell is cold, far colder than the draft in my apartment, the concrete absorbing all my
body heat leaving me shivering to stay warm. My clothes are wet from the water on the floor,
“maybe its urine” I think… “maybe it’s my urine” I wonder. Without my escape available I am forced
to look at the harsh reality of my situation, locked up and miserable saturated in what is likely my
own piss. How did it all come to this? I crave for another release, of the sweet sensation that will
take me far away from this iron pen, where I will be free from the gloominess that the future holds
over me. How I cannot wait to escape again.
History is written by victor. Whilst Police task forces are established to track cartels and stop the
trafficking of illicit and illegal drugs thought is seldomly given to the addicted. Who depend on these
drugs for their freedom. As said before it is all about perspective, the addicted most assuredly do not
consider themselves free when they keys to their prison of reality are taken away.