I don’t know what burr has spawned this latest burst of creative energy, but it’s fed by music, and that music is what spawns the piece you get. Yesterday’s post was fed by a song by Evanescence called Anywhere. If you listen to it on repeat… maybe you can find the source of that post. I repeated it approximately 8 times during the course of that writing burst, whose fruit waited ever so patiently for you when you logged into read it.

Today’s is in production, but it isn’t sadistic, it isn’t romantic… it’s simply what was produced, and for this one you can thank Metallica’s ‘Turn the Page.’

I woke up like so many other times, unaware of exactly where I was. A water stained ceiling was my first vision that morning, the stickiness of my mouth, my first sensation. I rolled over, disturbing someone whose body rested against mine. I only saw a glimpse of black hair before I reached, still blurry-eyed, for the pack of cigarettes on the table.

My head throbbed, pounded. My breathing was aggravating it, the light coming from the open bathroom door only added to it. Motel, I knew, but the whys and hows were foggy at the moment and I was in no hurry to sort out the details. A match, the scent of sulfur, and therapy began with the first inhale of smoke into my lungs.

My other hand brushed my face, felt the growth of a few days worth of whiskers. The same hand followed around and brushed unwashed hair from my face. I gagged, but held back whatever it was trying to escape my stomach. Information was not forthcoming from my brain. I turned and looked back over the woman who lay sprawled on the sunken mattress.

I stood, stubbing my toe on the bedside dresser, and studied her that much closer. I flicked the ash when it grew dangerously long, only to realize I hadn’t taken another drag and the damn thing had burned down most of the way.

The girl’s skin was pale, so much so that I could make out the subtle veins that ticked under her skin. She was naked, except for the somehow strategically placed sheet. I found it odd, for some reason, that I didn’t want to lift the sheet and wake her up. Maybe it was the heaviness of her breathing that kept me away, but something said to let her sleep.

I put out the rapidly burning remains of the cigarette and turned to the mirror, only to double over in pain. I grit my teeth as pain squeezed my gut and then twisted it. I opened my mouth to scream, but it only came out as a gasp. The gag reflex rushed back urgently, stronger this time. I scrambled, quickly across the dirty motel floor, and only just made it to the toilet before I heaved the contents of my stomach into the dirty bowl.

It went on long moments, so long that when I awoke again, I had no idea just how long I’d been out of it. I cracked one eye open only to wish I hadn’t as I stared at the black contents of my stomach, soaking in a puddle of toilet water. One hand reached up and flushed, the other pushed me away from the bowl.

The headache that plagued me was gone, but I was hesitant to move for fear that any distance away from the toilet would prove to be a bad decision. As time passed, I gathered the strength and nerve to push myself up. I saw myself in the bathroom mirror and groaned. I looked much like that black goop I’d just emptied into a sewer somewhere.

I emerged from the bathroom not much different, but my teeth were brushed and somehow that combined with a shower made me feel a million times better. The girl was gone. The lights seeping in through the sides of the motel windows told me I had slept well past check out. I packed the things I recognized, pulled on a clean shirt. I sat on the edge of the bed to pull on my shoes and was nudged in the thigh by the butt of a used hypodermic needle.

I held it up, and as I did, saw the tracks on my arm. I stood quickly and stripped back the sheets. It was a dirty, covered in new and used needles, old condoms. I felt detached from it, even as memories flashed in my brain of using those things, shooting the chemicals into my arm and just how I found myself laying next to the dark haired woman that morning.

I saw all of that. I had a chance to collect a vial containing what I knew could be my next hit. I had the chance, and instead, walked outside. On my way down the stairs, I passed by the same woman who, being so strung out, didn’t notice me. I saw a man, dressed in black, quietly following her. He lifted his head and looked at me.

I knew him, but couldn’t tell you from where. I said nothing, and watched as they walked into that same room I’d just left. I knew, somehow, that she would be fine.