I was supposed to go snowboarding. My alarm was set, my board was waxed and the weather was right. Waking up early had never been my strongest virtue. If anything, because of my lifestyle, it was a monumental task. Yet, I grit my teeth and pushed my eyes open. To my dismay I discovered the snowflakes outside had turned to frozen rain, but in actuality this had little effect on my plans. What did have an effect, was the fact that it had rained all night. Since I first hit the pillow to when my head left its soft warmth, the clouds hadn’t ceased their endless onslaught of frozen rain. What was frozen rain at my elevation was in turn snow for the mountain. A blessing? No, the winding  roads to the peak had been completely impossible to traverse. My snowboarding extravaganza was cancelled. Left on standby. This left a hole in my chest. One I would fill with cocaine.

In the past, the only substances to ever enter my body had been alcohol and the smoke of the cannabis plant. I had stashed away some of the more “extreme” drugs in the event that I would suffer a blow to my psyche that only the sweet power of C17H21NO4 could fill. I tore open a bag and let spill the contents onto my floor. The white powder was drifting through the air. I took a bendy straw I had saved, from a soft drink I had purchased alongside a fast food combo meal the night before. Jamming the plastic straw into my nose and inhaling deeply. The cocaine felt like I shot spicy hot sauce into my sinuses. The feeling of my entire face bursting into flames. But the initial pain wore off and I was left with a massive rush of energy. True power I never though capable of possessing. Immediately, I dropped to the floor with vigor, and attempted a push up. My shoulders gave way and my body collapsed with a thud. My face was shoved into the powder. I flailed for the bendy straw and continued to absorb this wonder drug into my body. At this moment I felt the raw power of a thousand suns and started doing karate in my small living space. I had no idea how to do karate. I wasn’t even capable of the basics of blocking or striking. But with  each movement I performed it felt like the soul of a hundred year old Sensei had possessed me.

With cocaine pumping through my blood, and my couch beaten to pieces with a baseball bat I found outside, it was time to hit the streets. Stuffing my sweatshirt and pants with the remaining extreme drugs, I ran to my car that stood parked on the hill outside. Completely disregarding my car keys, still on their hook next to my door. Once I got to the car I felt it had been defiantly rejecting its master. In reality it was simply locked. I punched the window and recoiled at its strong constitution. Then remembering I had anabolic steroids on hand, I pulled the cap of the syringe and jabbed it into my ass, pushing the plunger down. Within seconds I could feel my size increasing. Gaining strength at a superhuman rate. None of which was actually happening. With muscles of Hercules, I reached for a nearby rock. On the second attempt, I smashed the passenger side window in. I had won. Sharp glass was scattered inside and outside of the vehicle. I climbed over the car seats in a furor, cutting my hands and even lodging one of the larger shards into my  forearm. At the time I didn’t feel anything, reserving myself to making alpha male animal grunts and shouting butchered quotes from “The Lord of the Rings.” “Sam is the best friend a man-hobbit could ask with what for!” “The ents are coming to town!” “Long live the ring!”

In this moment I was split into three different minds. My cocaine and steroid fueled insanity. My guiding light that took the form of Keith Richards. And my own competent rational, that appeared as a shriveled husk similar to how Voldemort looked in the last Harry Potter film. (When Harry goes to wizard heaven and meets Dumbledore, Dumbledore says “Yo check this shit out.” And Baby Voldemort has no skin and is hiding under a park bench. It was quite similar to that.)

At this time, Keith Richards informed me I wasn’t able to go anywhere because I didn’t forgot the keys to my car. I laughed and said “I’ll make this baby fly.” Throwing myself out of the car and onto the cold pavement–which was mostly black ice. I ran to the back of the car and tried to lift it. I could feel every muscle and bone in my body creaking and crying. It was a miracle I could even keep my balance on the slippery ground. In my trance I started to feel pain. The glass on my hands,  my bruised body and the syringe still in my buttocks were torturous. This unpleasant sensation began to break down my high. I pulled the syringe out and searched my sweatshirt pockets for pain killers. My hands stumbled on a syringe of Novocaine. Yearning to put a stop to the pain, I stuck the needle into what I believed to be a large vein in my leg. Instead I hit an artery and my entire body began to lose all feeling. In some strange desperate attempt to drive my car, I tried to climb onto the roof from the trunk. Instead I lost all footing and fell flat on my back. There I lied, completely frozen. My brain no longer had any control over my body. This included my central nervous system. I would soon go into respiratory failure, then cardiac arrest. But first, my 90 degree field of vision to the dark sky above, was being obscured by the underside of my car’s muffler. I thought Keith Richards was dragging me to the hospital.

It only took a few moments for me to realize that Keith had left me. Gravity was the one dragging me. Do to the ice, the incline and lack of any physical motor functions, I was sliding. I gained little momentum which reduced me to a soft drift across the frozen pavement. Like a stick of butter on a tilted lukewarm pan. My sad sack slid for two uninterrupted minutes before I struck the car parked below mine. Its car alarm triggered to moment my foot struck its bumper.

From there I was rushed to the emergency room. The EMTs cut my clothes off and gave me life saving attention. They discovered what remained of my “extreme” drugs: A few tabs of LSD, A couple grams of Heroine, A bottle of Vicodin, another syringe of anabolic steroids, Meth, a crack pipe along with some crack, a tiny bottle of mescaline, cocaine laced blunt and some pokemon cards. They pocketed the drugs like they had just discovered buried treasure and left me with my Mudkip and Charizard. I think it goes against some kind of code, but I didn’t care a whole lot.

Afterwards I met with the police. They were trying to sort out what exactly happened based on my wounds, the drugs in my system, the damage to my car and the cocaine that covered my floor. I simply stated I didn’t remember what happened. Much to my surprise they accepted this answer. I decided not to push my luck and inquire. However, they would later inform me the events that transpired were the trademarks of an “Insane Pharmaceutical Serial Killer.” He or she had a “Hard-on” for drugging their victims with a range of nightmarish effects and forcing them to entertain him or her before putting them into a procaine induced snooze of death. The police officers assured me my run in with the killer was quite tame. “We once found a dead girl loaded with a range of psychedelics in her.  She was stripped naked and forced to run a gauntlet of Clive Barker images taped to dangling soup cans. When we got the call from a neighbor reporting a noise complaint, the B side of a Syd Barrett Album was still playing on full blast.” The cop shivered, as though a frigid wind crawled up his spine.

I’m currently writing this from the rehab facility I have been checked into. I’m here to get over my current addiction to cocaine. Though it was for only one night, my doctor advised I take the full three month program just in case. I’ve met some nice people during my stay and the nurses think I’m a great conversationalist.Group therapy is fun too. I usually receive strong praise when I open up about my relationship with my dad or my personal sexual frustrations. Its not easy but in the end, these things kind of sort themselves out. No use in worrying about it. I’m keeping a positive outlook. Maybe there will be some snow left on those mountains when I get out, but its no big deal. There’s always next year. When the day is done and I want to ride on. Cocaine.

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