The last route

For her everything was over, the shit had covered her eyes and she never knew very well why. Life had become more complicated for her, little by little, without realizing it, until she found herself with no way out. Now, sitting in an old fruit box, she was preparing the dose of that crap that always made her fly and that, fucking paradox, was the only thing that helped her escape.
To fly upwards, very high, to open her arms, to feel like a princess, queen of the world and light as a feather, beautiful and virginal.
Then he fell hopelessly, his world returned was a cruel fucking world that he had had to live, without hope and without a future. But she didn't care about the fall, neither the hope nor the future, she never cared about breaking her head after a good trip; for her it was worth it, because she had no other way out, she never had it or if she had it. He rode past her on his grey horse.

She looked for a vein where she could prick herself, they were almost gone and she found one in her right ankle; the last way. He took the white lady, put her in the spoon and thought:

"A lot of shit for this trip.

But she didn't care and went on with the cursed ritual that elevated her to the heavens. She flew again, but this time she felt different, so much so, that she found herself lying near the cardboard and plywood shack, with the syringe of a thousand uses, hanging from her ankle, as if it were just another appendage of her body.

Soon she heard the voice of her father calling her, she turned around and there she was at the end of a path of light. She could also recognize her brother, who was the same as when she left, and her grandparents had not changed either. He walked towards the light; at last it was all over.

Source of the images: Pixabay and @talentclub