He poured the powder onto the spoon, adding a bit of water and then stirred the substance with a matchstick. He held the spoon above a candle and then brought the substance to a boil. He looked at the wall. The wall was covered with a thousand different scrawls of his own name, written in different styles and different colours. He slouched with his back against the wall. Holding the spoon above the candle, the substance was ready. He took out a syringe, quickly holding the needle above the candle flame to make sure that everything was sterile. From the spoon, he took the plunger of the syringe and drew the liquid from the spoon.
Then threw a leather belt around his arm, holding pressure on his arm to ensure that the vein came and stuck out. That blue vein, the main line, the sweet spot. He had found it and he used the needle on himself. A small amount of blood seeped from his arm.
He continued to stare at the wall as his mind went somewhere else. He was thinking about something and then his mind, let go of his own thoughts. His concentration was lapsing… He looked at the wall. There were photos on the wall. Photos and pictures of himself. He couldn’t really concentrate on anything else. The drugs had begun to take effect on his mind. And as they did, his consciousness began to slowly fade and blur. Those photos of himself started to flicker at the same time that his eyes opened and closed at a rapid rate.
He was trying out the drug for the first time. Everyone else had said that it was a ripper. He couldn’t remember exactly what it was called, it was a series of chemical compounds and was only known as thus. And he had injected it into his arm.
His line of vision attempted to focus on the pictures on the wall. Instead of finding some solace in the pictures. He went back to a memory, a memory that he had forgotten, buried deep within his cerebellum.
He had just completed the act of intercourse with one of his female workers. They had been dating for several weeks and he had just achieved orgasm. He was taking off the condom, filled with his own gunk, off of his penis. The elastic snapped back as he took it off. He had felt light headed at the time, and being brought back to the memory was some sort of remnant haze.
He remembered talking with the girl, the woman, as she cleaned herself up and told him that she was going for a shower. He watched her walk off and into the bathroom in her underpants, leaving herself bare chested and he slapped her arse as she walked away from him. He remembered saying something, he couldn’t remember what, but the woman had turned back to him and said, “You’re a pig!”
And now he was back. Sitting on the floor. Of some unknown area. Looking at the scrawls and photos on the wall. He didn’t know how long he had been out of it or for what reason he had attempted to center his mind back on that memory. But now he was back in the apartment… How much time had passed exactly? He looked to the floor, then to his arm. Along his veins where he had injected himself, there were deep black marks occurring up and down the length of his arms. They were occurring inwards, up and down his veins, on the length of his arm. The left side of his face was numb and he felt as if his left ear had taken on a life of its own.
He started to scream, but only half of his body was operational and so the left side of his body. Now numb and free of sensation. So as he attempted to yell out, the noises that he made came out as choked muffled screams. With half of his body, half of his head not working right. How much noise could he make?
He looked with horror down at his arm as the black texture seemed to spread up and down his arm like little black crystals. It was kind of like watching water freeze at a rapid rate. If water were black, not clear, and contained in within the vessels of the veins.
He couldn’t scream. He just watched it all happen and produced this muffled noise. Like the squealing of a pig, or a rhinoceros being fucked up the arse by a pine tree.
With the right side of his body still operational he attempted to pull himself towards the bathroom where he would be able to vomit. He felt the need to… His mouth was filled with saliva, the world around him was spinning. His right leg was working too, and he kicked out on the floor and moved himself towards the bathroom.
He didn’t quite make it to the bathroom and then he attempted to yell out into the empty apartment. Tried to squeal out in pain. He made this sound, it would be interrupted, like choking noises. Little clucks of choking noises. Then he vomited. He threw up all over the floor, it was black bile… It was all black. Like oil. Crude oil. He didn’t know where it had come from. But somehow, within the process of injecting his body with the unknown chemical compound it had forced his body into a series of fits that produced crude oil.
After this point he passed out.
He woke up twenty-four hours later with a doctor standing over him. It was the same doctor who had prescribed the mysterious drug in the first place.
“So that was the effect…”
“… The effect?” The drug addict asked. “What effect? What do you mean?”
“The drug we have given you, it made you produce… this.” The doctor pointed with his foot to the oily substance on the ground that he had regurgitated yesterday.
“Yes. What it is it?”
“Yes, the stuff that fuels cars and other things.”
“I don’t understand, how?”
“Never matter the how. We have just solved the fuel crisis, there will be a parade, there will be many things. Tell me, was it painful?” The doctor asked.
“Yes, very much so…”
And then from the hallucination he woke up. The doctor wasn’t real, neither were the fits or the reproduction of crude oil. It was all some sort of fantasy that his mind had concocted while he was under the effects of the drug.
He was drooling to the side of his mouth, but that was all. The trip was over. He still had more of the powder. He readied his spoon, lit the candle and prepared himself for more.