For her it was all over, the shit had covered her eyes and she never really knew why. His life had been getting more and more complicated, little by little, without realizing it, until he found himself with no way out. Now, sitting on an old fruit box, she was preparing the shot of that filth that always made her fly and that, paradoxically, was the only thing that helped her escape. Flying up, very high, opening your arms, feeling like a princess, queen of the world and light as a feather, beautiful and virginal. Then he fell hopelessly, his world was once again the cruel fucking world he had lived in, without hope and without a future. But she didn't care about the fall, hope or future, she never cared about breaking her neck after a good trip, it was worth it for her, because she had no other way out, she never had it or if she did, she rode her grey horse.
He looked for a vein where he could hardly get a puncture, and found one in his right ankle, the last line. He took the white lady, put her in the spoon and thought "a lot of butter for this trip". But she didn't care and went on with the cursed ritual that lifted her up to heaven. She flew again, but this time she felt so different, so different, that she saw herself lying near the cardboard and plywood shack, with the syringe, a thousand uses, hanging from her ankle, as if it were just another appendage of her body.
Soon after, she heard her father's voice calling out to her, turned around and there she was at the end of a path of light. He was also able to recognize his brother, who was just as he was when he left and his grandparents had not changed either. He walked towards the light; at last it was all over.
Source of the images: Pixabay and @talentclub
