The Eye publishes fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, literary analysis, research, and artwork by students from NHTI—Concord’s Community College and other students throughout New Hampshire. We celebrate student voices and experiences!
Jenna stared at her friend as she lay motionless on the floor. Her breathing was shallow and slow. Her eyes rolled into the back of her skull as she released the needle from her left hand, a belt still wrapped around her right arm. Jenna had just been cooking up her own batch to send coursing through her veins when she noticed her friend had begun to shake. She carefully placed her tools back in the leather pouch she had just purchased to hold her paraphernalia, laying the spoon on the ground so that the heroine didn’t spill and waste. She bent down over her friend and at first didn’t say anything. Sasha’s lips were turning blue, noticeable though she had on her ugly bright red lipstick. Her pupils were barely noticeable as they rolled around, but Jenna could see that they were incredibly tiny. She had not ever seen someone go through an overdose before. It was exciting.
“Sasha?” Jenna said. No response. She looked around at the house. On the coffee table was Sasha’s stash. Jenna eyed it hungrily. Jenna stood and walked to the coffee table. Next to the stash sat Sasha’s house phone. She picked it up and dialed 9-1-1. She did not hit send. She couldn’t do that. She would get in trouble herself. She was at Sasha’s to shoot up heroine. How would she explain that? The two women had their kids just one room over, playing with their Cabbage Patch Kids. Sasha needed a doctor. If she died her daughter would be all alone, but if Sasha was caught with heroine in her system Dana would be taken away anyways.
My brain is a messy place.
The walls were finger-painted blue and red long before I could speak.
Anxiety and I share the same birthday
And we both get older each year.
On good days
Sugar rots my skull into a candy-coated cave.
The edges taste sweet and I can smell summer just on the other side of the door.
I make wishes on dandelions that grow on the window sill.
On bad days
Nobody wipes their feet before they enter and the floors of my mind are caked in
Mud from their boots.
We both had pasts we weren’t proud of. We were both paying the price. She said she loved me, but I truly loved her. I was at the tail end of a three year prison sentence. Going home was so close I could taste it. After being confined for nearly three years, the sense of freedom that the halfway house offered was a welcome change. I began working at Dunkin’ Donuts. For the first time in my life, I appreciated such a low-paying job. Nine dollars per hour sure beat the three dollars per day I was earning behind the walls. Things were going so smoothly. Then, with one phone call, my life was changed forever.
She had the voice of an angel. Her tone was so positive, with a touch of pure happiness. I remember thinking that I wanted whoever was on the other end of that phone to keep talking to me forever. Me, being the Casanova that I am, told her that she had a sexy voice. She sounded appalled. A sense of dread consumed me. In just a few words, I had ruined the fantasy that I had built so quickly in my mind.