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The hair on my legs stood on end. Then, the feeling of needles grazing the flesh of my arm announced itself to my brain. It began pumping through my arteries. My blood ran cold. My stomach lurched. Junk sickness seized me. My body was in revolt and demanded a call to arms. I went to the payphone, my only option after pawning the iPhone my parents bought me. I picked it up and dialed Big Fate as if possessed. I knew this was a bad idea.
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It was sitting beside the curb outside my apartment. A white iPhone 4S in surprisingly good condition. I scooped it up from the ground to get a closer look. It probably belonged to a high school girl, judging by the horrendously glittering purple case. I admired the phone anyway — tacky though the case was, it had protected its charge fairly well. No hairline cracks, no dings, no dents… nothing. As I marched into my apartment, throwing my bag on the floor and shedding my coat and shoes, I continued inspecting the phone. Whoever lost it must surely be missing it. I pressed the home button and the screen lit up. A swipe right and I discovered that the phone was not, in fact, locked.

How can I be more supportive. Life is suddenly wonderful, and you catch yourself smiling, humming, and happy all the time. My spouse really is the most important and I would be nothing without them. I understand your internal conflict completely and my heart goes out to you. Again, reiterating it, don't expect a decade's worth of time with her, but enjoy her good while you two are together. She sounds so indoctrinated that like even if you try to get her to open up, who knows you might get like a BJ out of it doesn't sound like it but who knowsyou have to realize that a lifetime of conditioning will be set in motion in her mind that will make your life hell. It all depends on the girl. You have to be so strong to be on your own so much. But God works in mysterious ways. These exclusions, dictated by doctrine, hold the potential to create wedges between you, both immediately, and in the long term.

The hair on my legs stood on end. Then, the feeling of needles grazing the flesh of my arm announced itself to my brain. It began pumping through my arteries. My blood ran cold. My stomach lurched. Junk sickness seized me.

My body was in revolt and demanded a call to arms. I went to the payphone, my only option after pawning the iPhone my parents bought me. I picked it up and dialed Big Fate as if possessed. I knew this was a bad idea. However, my actions were no longer my own.

I begged and I pleaded for him to stop through, but he refused. He said what I feared he would. He insisted in no uncertain terms that I come to his house. I had only been there once before, and I had made a deal with my soul that I would never return under any circumstances. However, this being my only option to get a fix, I hopped into my shitty car and headed over doing my best not to get pulled over for speeding on the way.

I was a very promising scholar in high school. I had straight As until my junior year. However, I fell into the proverbial wrong crowd. What started as smoking weed once or twice on a lark quickly turned into raucous parties with people with unsavory connections. A line of cocaine here or there and I was still in the clear. It was the night that someone laid out a line of smack that was the beginning of the end.

I snorted it thinking it was blow. The euphoric feeling that accompanied the drip down my throat was unparalleled. That is when I started my interminable affair with H, the love of my life. While my world and ambitions burned to ashes around me, there was one constant. The sweet release from life the drug provided brought a veritable cremation to all my cares.

Calling this part of Rashosha, WI skid row was being way too generous. It was a fucking mausoleum of the hopes and ambitions of the destitute. Dilapidated duplexes and derelict apartment buildings lined the streets. Children played in the avenues with the blessed innocence of youth. Not aware that in the game of life, they had drawn the short straw. I walked up the wooden stairs as they threatened to give way from the weight of my feet, pulled the screen door that barely remained on its hinges, and knocked on the door.

It flew open. Big Fate stood in front of me. He opened the door with aplomb, a sinister smile on his face as he invited me in. The thing about Big Fate that most people remarked about when meeting him was, naturally, his short stature. He reveled in the fact that his frame belied how capably ruthless he was. As the five teardrops tattooed under his eyes indicated, he was not someone to be trifled with.

I entered his home, and the smell hit me immediately, the pungent aroma of cat urine. This was strategic. I was convinced that he purposefully did not clean up after his animal on the off chance that someone would dare to ask about the abhorrent stench and give him a reason to seek retribution for the slight. Rumor had it that only one person ever mentioned the smell, and they were never seen again.

Come in and sit down for a second motherfucker. I had no choice but to come in, sit on the ramshackle couch in his living room, and stay put with anxiety coursing through my veins. Big Fate picked up the bag and handed it to me. Before I could grasp it, he quickly snatched it out of my hands. He swiped the dishes on the table in my direction and stood over me in a threatening posture. Are you out of your fucking mind?

I wanted to cry. I wanted to flee, but I held out hope that if I weathered the storm I could leave heroin in hand. You can trust me. Me and you are different. D Murder! I turned around to see the large form approach. He advanced toward me rapidly, brandishing a baseball bat. Before I could put up my hands to defend my face, the bat made contact with my skull. Blackness followed. The concrete rough and cold on my legs as they lay on the floor.

The throbbing pain in my head was dulled by the increasing symptoms of withdrawal. As my consciousness slowly came back online, I realized that the crack on my skull and the junk sickness were the least of my worries.

My hands were elevated above my head. Attached were a pair of handcuffs. The handcuffs were tethered to the wooden railing of the basement stairs. I looked up to see Big Fate next to D Murder standing ominously by a small table. When I saw what was on the table, my pulse quickened. My already stressed heart threatened to burst out of my chest. On the table was a 9mm handgun.

The needle nosed pliers next to the gun were worn down from use and covered in blood. Big Fate broke the silence with a shit eating smile on his face. Murder grab this worthless piece of shit by the legs. I began to struggle furiously but to no avail. The pain was excruciating, truly indescribable.

It made a slight ripping sound as it came free. I wanted to scream so badly, but I knew if I did Big Fate would make good on his threat. Big Fate held the pliers by my face and showed me my detached toenail. He looked at me with such disgust for what I had said reflecting exactly how I felt. It was at that moment I decided if I made it out of this alive, I would get clean. Murder take off his pants. My genitals shrunk back in horror as they were exposed to the cold, still air of the basement.

Big Fate scraped the skin of my scrotum with the pliers. As it began to clamp down, a crashing sound filled the air. The stairway railing broke free of its home. He fell to the ground unconscious. The shock of what happened caused Big Fate to become momentarily petrified. I kicked him in the face and scrambled for the gun on the table. His victory was short lived. I grabbed the pistol by the slide and brought it down on his mouth. Teeth flew out. Blood erupted. The force of the blow was so hard it knocked the gun out of my hand.

In a panic, I pulled up my pants, grabbed the handcuff key, ran to the stairs, found the front door, and made my exit out to the street. Pistol in hand he loaded the magazine. I turned the key knowing it would stall. This car was on its last legs. I cursed myself for trading in the Honda my parents bought me for this piece of shit.

Miraculously, it sprang to life. The sound of gunfire filled the air. The back window of my car shattered.

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