If I Don't Get Clean, I'll Never Stop Seeing Demons

The needle slipped out of my hand and rolled onto the floor in front of me. My head fell onto my shoulder as I slouched further onto the wall. It never took long to kick in, sending me to a sweet euphoria, where time stood still and I felt lighter than air. The only downside is when I start coming down. That's when it all starts

The beautiful numbness starts wearing off as the clear blue skies above blend into a milky red, until the wind picks up enough speed to cause a swirling dust storm around a fully crimson sky. I can feel myself grow cold, with specs of dirt poking at my skin as it circulates around me. And then the demons appear.

They come into view from beyond the cloud of dirt and debris, hobbling towards me. The pain I feel when they look directly at me in unnerving, sending me into a fit of goosebumps so severe that each of my hair follicles feels like there's a microscopic needle pushing through. They laugh and circle me like vultures guarding a freshly half-rotten prey.

I shiver and cling to myself to friction-up enough heat to keep from going into what feels like hypothermic shock. There's nowhere I can look where those yellow eyes won't be staring back at me with a deafening glare that makes me feel so overwhelmingly small and defenseless. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, on my darkest day in hell.

As I sit, backed into the corner, the air condenses to create a density so thick I can't move, even to swallow the lump in my throat. It suffocates me, causing my lungs to sink in until they finally collapse. The burst of pain that results is unlike any other, but no matter how hard I react, I can't utter a scream or even a whimper due to the impossibly pressurized air pushing against me.

All the while the demons dance vigorously in a rotation around me, splitting the ground beneath their hooves and letting up a spew of whistling steam from the smoldering earth below. The heat that rises even manages to bring on a sensation of heatstroke without affecting the pinching sting of hypothermia that pulsates across my body.

Then the laughter begins.

The demons begin to chaotically laugh at me in my cowering position on the ground. Their laughter shakes my bones and tugs at my muscles and tendons, as winged demons swoop down from the crimson sky to join in on the infectious torture. Their deep voices pierce through my eardrums, reverberating inside my pounding head in a frequency so low that I'm convulsed into twisted reflexes, popping my joints in and out of place, with loud snapping sounds to accompany them. Their laughter only intensifies at the sight of my agony.

Then there's the creatures who claw their way up from the ground beneath, lifting themselves with a devilishly high-pitched howl that reverses the rotation of the dust storm above. A large clutter of debris falls onto me at once in its transition. Some items stab into my skin, others leave deep cuts or severe burns that instantly bubble up into swollen blisters, and then collapse with a splash of burning fluid that only spreads the burns further throughout my body.

When the tornado picks back up its so intense that it spreads a vortex at his center, where I see shadows of screaming bystanders, writhing in extreme pain only inches from my face as they spin. I can feel their pain with every trapped loop they make, and even as they circulate away, the pain lingers, itching from under my irritated skin.

Eventually the creatures approach me, with hatred painted on their grins, spanning clear across their faces. It feels as if a hundred claws are squeezing into my flesh all at once, while one of them lifts my hands up by my wrists. I have no control to stop it as it locks its glowing yellow eyes onto mine and shoves my green and black, frost-bitten fingers into its mouth to whistle.

It blows out a high-pitched screech that draws the blood out of my veins and through my ears. It's the whistle that draws in the part of my torture that terrifies me the most; the hounds.

The whistling continues as I grit my teeth from the pain, while actively trying not to crush my teeth out of my jaw from the pressure I'm putting onto them. The dogs quickly appear through the fog in the distance, running with jaggedly their crooked spines and enlarged, chattering snouts.

Every time it's the same and I know what happens next; The dogs run up and begin tearing the meat from my bones, ripping me apart while I'm forced to sit motionless through the agonizing pain of death.

The only thing I can bare to think of that'll help end the misery... is the next dose. The next needle I can inject into my arm to escape this living hell. There's always a point in the torture where I find the strength to load up the next shot and tie down my arm to pump up the vein for the injection.

Then once I do, the demons all fade into nothingness, turning the red skies blue again, and allowing me to take that first breath since god knows how long. I breathe in deep, taking in all the fresh, clean air the atmosphere has to offer, basking in the cushioning sun rays that beat down onto me. For a brief moment everything is tranquil. For a brief moment, while the heroin is racing through my weak veins I'm alive and well.

And that's the curse of my punishment. The endless purgatory of always chasing my next fix to escape the horrifying violence of coming back down into reality. I never expected hell to grant me access to the utopia that getting high takes me to. But it's only so it can take it away from me shortly after, serving as a constant harsh reminder of the unbearable torment that's always going to be waiting for me, pulling me out of my joy just as it's been given. A torture method that's truly been tailored specifically for me.

I should've gone to rehab before I overdosed.