From Nothing To Gold.

From Nothing To Gold: Part Of A Novel.
by MusicMyLife » August 15th, 2014, 6:54 am

I stand here. Shivering and contemplating my life. My innocence has been stretched so far, I have been tortured for too long, physically and mentally. I stand here, looking at the stars, their shine, their prominence, their natural beauty. I look below, looking at the skimpy skirt. This outfit is for the predators, the fiends. But I can't disband from this game, it's consumed me, overwhelmed me. I'm a character that lacks the will to break the stronghold. 

The cars go by. Fast and volatile. They spark life in me, always, the smoke fills my nostrils and my lungs. This street is lit in red, the broken pavements like the scars on my arms, the cracked walls like my spirit and life. It feels like the cold has burrowed into me, I'm freezing trying to make a living. A living? I go through these dirty, sordid, episodes, experiences, to gain money for drugs and alcohol. Alcohol is on my mind, 24/7, I need the demon to drip feed me. 

A car stops. A hand waves me in. I throw away the cigarette onto the frozen ground. I hesitate for a second then think about the cash, I don't think about the consequences. I open the door of the expensive car. The interior smells of lavish aftershave, musky and enthralling. Looking at him, I see his plush suit and shaved face, he's surprisingly handsome. Why is he looking for sex, he should be loved up, basking in the nest of the love birds. 

He doesn't talk. He starts the engine and drives on, calmly and expertly, the car runs so smooth, it barely makes a sound. He drives through the roughness of the city, where the gutters overflow, where the homeless try to generate heat from their tarnished sleeping bags. The frost is everywhere, on the chins of the stray dogs that parade around the loose garbage, the neon lights pepper the drab concrete, there is plenty of bars and food outlets, drunks and sinners, and I'm on my way to the unknown. It might be a mansion, or a state of art apartment. He looks like the type that is cemented in riches.

He stops the car outside a large house. He smiles at me gleefully. He looks so chilled out, like icicles hanging from a roof as the winter blossoms. His chin so chiselled, his attire so well made, the suit he is wearing must have cost a small fortune, enough money that could feed me for two months.

We sit for a few minutes. I begin to speculate again. Why did he pick me up? Why does he want me to produce sexual favours, he has the money and the charm to seduce any woman.

He opens his door and steps on the pavement. He then opens my door softly and graciously, his tie elevates as the wind blows. He takes my hand and takes me out elegantly like a piece of light paper. My eyes fixate on his, he seems genuine, but he might have a dark side. A dangerous alter ego, a Jekyll and Hyde persona.

He takes out a cigarette, a habit I've taken part in for years. He hands me one, I take it with generosity. The lighter is of an old style, one click and a colossal flame powers up, lighting my cigarette with ease. It's better than one of those cheap lighters, it has class and is gold plated. I smoke the cigarette quickly, letting it blast its poison at my lungs. He takes his time looking at the stars at he drags. He points at them, if he could he would stroke them. Banishing the end of the cigarette, he looks at me as I freeze outside, I shake and my teeth chatter. 

We eventually walk up the long driveway. I look at the flash cars and become envious. I know nothing about them, but I wish to own them, to showcase their beauty. He must have a substantial amount of money, he must glare at his bank balance and then smile at it with pride shooting through his veins. He takes out the keys, they clank together, almost creating a tune. Unlocking the door, he walks in first, placing the keys upon the table that has some colourful flowers upon it. The spread of red and blue is enchanting and fresh. 

He takes me into the living room. The red leather sofa and white painted walls gel well together. The chandelier that hangs on ceiling encrusted in diamonds gives the place a sheen. A shine like those stars that populate the sky at night. 

'Sit' 

He finally opens his mouth. He owns a gritty voice. A voice like a action star, like a famous actor. It's like he's gargling nails. A pulsating sound comes from his mouth, it gives me chills. He's a man of character and seems like a man of integrity, even if he's only said one word. 

I sit. He pours me a drink of whiskey. I don't like whiskey, but I drink it anyway, it takes off the edge, it gives me that feeling, my inhibitions release. They loosen, they unlock. He doesn't sit, he decides to stand. 

'So what's your name?' 

'Sara' 

'I'm Hugo' 

He sips his whiskey with sheer elegance. Staring me down, picking at me with eyes. I wonder about his motives, what he wants to gain? I ask for answers. 

'Why have you brought me here?' 

'Well I am sexually frustrated, and as you know you're what I need' 

I liked him before he spoke, I liked his face, his suit, his house. Now he seems like the rest of them. A man on a mission to calm his sexual frustrations. I go back to being a piece of meat, a body for sex and nothing else, no one is going ever love me. No one is ever going to cherish me. I don't want bottled up like a fine wine, I just want respect. 

'Okay' 

'Okay, is that all you can say. Where is the spontaneous word-smith in you, can you not talk dirty, make me want you, make me need you' 

I offer myself to him. I'm not one for talking dirty, I just jump into the sex, the dirtiness, the sordidness. He wants me to talk to him like a s---, maybe I am a s---, a dirt ridden w----. I'm not a gold digger, I only need enough to live. I don't need to expand or populate my life with great things or novelties. The essentials is all I need. 

'Undress yourself' 

I hesitate. Going at it quickly, he comments on that. 

'Slowly please, I'm paying for everything' 

I begin to take off my top and then my Bra. He can't hold in his neediness and inner demon. He walks over and touches my breasts, fondling them, I don't say a word, I don't flinch, I stand like a mannequin. 

'The rest' 

I start to take off my underwear. I stand naked, exposed to the man that I thought might have loved me, but why was I hoping for change. The world won't change. As I stand shivering, he goes over to a stack of drawers that sit under his wide screen TV that is stuck to the wall. He stands there for a minute or so, I can only see his back. He eventually turns around with a gun in one hand and a camera in the other. Looking bemused and scared, I begin to speak out. 

'What the f------' 

'You're mine now, there is no way out' 

My mind starts to corrode with the thoughts of dread. My innocence becomes exposed and my eyes see a man that has just altered his personality rapidly. I'm like a piece of meat hanging on a skewer, marinaded in a disgusting sweetness. The room spins, my head aches, and my body tenses up. He's got me where he wants me, closed in and bare. 

'You think you can stand out there on the streets and earn money all the time. You don't even do anything, you're a junkie. You deserve to be in a gutter, dead' 

His harsh words pound through me like a hammer to a bell. His legs move, I can hear the rubber from the soles of his shoes. He grabs my hair, the pain is unrelenting, the horrendous stinging sensation powers through my already thumping head. He pulls the blinds shut, he pushes me onto the bed, I try to tussle with him but his strength is overwhelming. I struggle, I struggle so much. 

He ploughs into me. I can feel his knuckles hit against my face. The pain threshold breaks, I feel the agony pulsate. He throws me like a bag of trash onto the floor, my ribcage hits against the wood. I crawl slowly, yelping in pain, I hear his voice in the background. He shouts out, his disgusting tongue dancing in his whiskey laced mouth. I don't look back I keep going forward determined to live. 

'If you tell anyone, I will find you and I will kill you' 

I miraculously make it to my apartment block. It stares me down, like I'm sort of weakling, I feel like a toy in a giants hand. The windows are like black eyes. I am so battered and bruised that I would welcome living in the darkness for a long time. To recuperate to rectify my broken life. I try to make it, I do, but I fall down like a brick falling down from an unstable wall, my eyes flicker, my life set out before me, death begins to clog the wind. 

I see flashes, I hear fading noises as I open my eyes. The white thin cover over my legs, the muttering machine next to me, controlling my thought process, a constant drone. But I turn my attention to this very attractive girl, sitting on one of those old brittle chairs with her fine nails painted, with her dazzling hair shining like the sun on a river. She looks like a lawyer, a very professional person with assertiveness and pride running through her lovely veins. She turns her eyes on me and discovers I am awake. She stands up completely amazed by my recovery progression. 

'Oh, are you okay?. I mean you were out for a very long time. You could have froze out there' 

I gaze straight into her eyes. She must think I am weird, but the drugs make me feel emotionless and somewhat painless. Like the illegal highs. 

'How did I get here?' 

I was passing by the apartments in the car and I saw you lying with a layer of frost upon you, I phoned an ambulance straight away' 

She didn't have to do that. I mean I'm only a human filled with waste. A girl broken hearted with decaying prospects and rotten potential. She did it though, she saved from the weather and the foxes. 

Sitting up isn't easy. The nurses play around with the setting of the bed. I am pushed forward like a recliner chair. They take numerous blood tests as the girl that saved me reads the latest gossip in one of those badly written magazines that brutalise the seeds of journalism. 

'Why do you read that?' 

'I don't know, I just picked it up from the hospital shop' 

Shaking my head. I ask her what she does for a living, her occupation. 

'I'm a lawyer' 

I smile. I knew it, I knew she worked in law. The attire is a sign, the well spoken tongue is another. Maybe I could use her to prosecute the b------- that cut me up and left me to bleed out. 

'You're lucky to alive. It's cold out there' 

Yeah I could have been struck down with hypothermia, they would have needed a chisel to break through the potent exterior. My heart as hard as a brick, my head like a frozen bowling ball. But I'm here. I've escaped the frost and the bite of it. She puts down the magazine and asks me if I want a cup of coffee. I say no, I hate coffee. I don't understand the boom of it, the constant obsession. She walks out of the room I want to walk away from. 

I wait on her to come back. I think to myself, why is she here doting on me, talking to me like I've known her since pre school. But she might have a kind heart, a person cut from a fabric that isn't tainted. She comes back, her hands filled with coffee and a sandwich, she hands me the food. I open it and devour it like an animal that hasn't been fed for days. She looks bewildered and perplexed. I look back with crumbs on my broken out face, bursting into laughter, she can't contain it, not dampening the situation at all. I start to feel the drugs infuse my blood. The euphoric vibes pounding through my head like a bears footsteps, I feel sleepy and dazed, the pain is like a distant feeling, overthrown and pushed aside. 

The next day I find I am sitting on a lush sofa draped in a red throw in an apartment I couldn't even afford if I worked my a-- off for years. The wallpaper is red too, with white flowers that glow adding a deep contrast. The smell of baking evokes my nostrils, the sudden image of a good life sticks in my brain. I haven't felt this way since I was a child pulling at my Mother's dress. 

Amy walks in, I learnt her name on the way home from the hospital. We talked about life and its upheavals, we didn't strangle the conversation by talking about the incident. She fills up my cup with tea, a foreign drink to me, I have never tasted it. Then she places a large birthday cake in front of me. It has chocolate flakes and swirls upon its decadent, spongy exterior. 

Amy lights the candles, they're red and white, colours that go so well with the décor of the apartment. 

'Blow, come on' 

I feel like a child again. This time not a lost child basking in a dirty light with tears strolling down my face. I blow out the candles. She cuts through the cake softly, placing a piece on an immaculate white plate. I take it and smile at her. 

Night comes and we're sitting on the sofa. It's very comfortable, my body sinks into it, it has a perfect padding for my bruises and cuts. Amy opens a bottle of wine, I stare at it, infatuated by the colour, the redness. The smell of the wine attacks me, I'm an alcoholic as well as a junkie. So with wine, I turn into a different person, depressed, sorrow ridden. My heart swells, my inhibitions deplete. Amy doesn't know this, I haven't told her about my habits and flaws. 

The TV acts like a distraction. I say no to the wine, I reject it, I try to place the craving to the back of my mind. A half an hour later, Amy starts to slur her words, she starts to play on speech with bad outcomes. 

'You know I'm a good lawyer, I work hard, I try my best' 

I nod my head. Nodding to everything she says, not making any comments. She fills her glass again with red wine, it looks like fresh blood from a wound. She drinks with with pace , not savouring the taste. Her eyes become glazed. I know she's drunk, and I'm craving to be under the influence, I want to pickle this liver. Staring at me, she moves closer, pouting her lips kissing me on mine. 

I don't how to react. I don't know what to say? I feel awkward, exposed, but sexually aroused. Amy is attractive and I am falling into a sexual encounter, trying to claw myself out of the bubble of lust that contains us, I know it is invisible, but it's there. I kiss her regardless, pressing my lips against hers. My rough existence is becoming a little smoother, as we walk through to the bedroom. 

I leave a note on the bedside table. It's a note written with a regretful tinge, my heart isn't in the this episode of sex and normality. I don't belong here, I belong in the bustle of the city walking around aimlessly, stabbing the pavements with cheap high heels. 

She sleeps quietly and softly like a newborn, I try to be as cool and as subtle as I can, completing my escape, opening the door into the ice touched oxygen, fastening up my winter jacket trapping in as much heat as possible. Tomorrow I'll seek my normal status, I won't rebel or keep her face in the front of my tattered mind. Tonight I'll go a meet a friend just like me. 

Chapter 2. 

The beat up room with tired wallpaper peeling off like burnt skin. I'm sloughed on a ripped couch stinking of stale smoke and cheap perfume. My hair is a mess and my outfit revealing. I look like a ruined punk rocker awaiting the black parade to carry me through the streets of burning hell. Shona Carter sits beside me. She's on some sort of high that's eating her self respect. I can't judge, my self respect was eaten a long time ago. Clicking the lighter, the flame glorious. I light my cigarette and I exhale onto the face of Shona to get a reaction, she doesn't even flinch, she's stuck in a dramatic trip smiling, her eyes bold.

I look across the room. There's an enigmatic couple kissing their love into each other. With dancing tongues and unnerving grunts, they're in their episode of lust, trapping the misery and expressing true dedication. I wish to feel like that, loved not used. In my adult life my love has been dangled like a carrot in front of a caged rabbit. It's like my heart ticks for only me. 

The couple leave the living room and proceed into the bedroom slamming the door behind them. The loud noise brings Shona back into the clutches of reality, she takes a swig of raw vodka, not purifying her body in any way but killing it slowly. She's used to be a athlete, a gymnast, provoking minds with body movements and sheer motivation. Now she sits squandering it all, ploughing money into her habit, sacrificing everything just to feel euphoric daily. 

I stand up and look around. The place is dirty, engrained in grime. The dishes stack up like a small mountain in the kitchen, the tired fan catches the flies like a pair of rotten teeth. I turn on the tap, it takes a while for clean water to disperse. I contemplate trying to wash away the debris, but I know if I do, it would be wasted energy. The place would end up back to square one, or even worse. 

The bathroom doesn't fair any better. The sink hole is clogged with loose hair. The shower broken and the walls are discoloured, the whole apartment needs a complete overhaul. I take a look in the mirror. My white, gaunt face, my unwashed hair, my stoned eyes, I look ill and starving. My inner fiend deprives me of living out normal day to day routines, I don't eat breakfast, I barely eat at all. I don't read the newspaper or watch the bulletins on the television, my life is drug infested and tedious. My outlook is seriously declining and my hope is ripping away. I turn away from the mirror. I can't look at the disastrous reflection anymore.

Closing my eyes. I see the face of that devil that seduced me and then battered his fists into my ribcage. I picture his life, lavish and interesting, rich in alcohol and deluded woman. I stand next to the storage heater trying to warm up my frozen body, it barely gives off any heat, my hands like shaped icicles. I then open my eyes to trauma, Shona lies there spurting out white foam like a fish. I run to her aid grabbing the phone. I swear consistently. Placing her into recovery mode, I fear for her. 

It's hard to call an ambulance when you're hands are numb. Pressing the buttons send a jolt through my heart, pulses that are uncomfortable. But I have to do it, I can't leave my only hope to die a young death. After the call, I put the phone down, passing a sigh of concern. As the ambulance appears, they ask me questions. I tell them everything that I witnessed, they ask if she took any drugs. I say yes. I don't want to lie, we're avid junkies, possessed by the same demon, we should be attached together, with barb wire in our veins. 

They take her out for the street settlers to see, still foaming from the mouth. If the buildings had eyes they would be shocked to their brick laden hearts. I'm in a panic, not coasting through the situation at all, why should I try to? She's my friend, she's my only peer that knows me inside out. She is lifted on the back of the ambulance, her eyes closed shut, it looks like it would take a pair of pliers to open them up. I sit beside her and I pray to God for the first time since childhood. Praying to God when I was little brought me comfort. The ambulance moves fast and the lights add colour to the channelling sound of the sirens. 

Shona passed away. At the age of 25, she died due to the drugs. Her life trampled by a stampede of narcotics. Pounding her body like a large mallet, her brain swelled, her young system shut off, her empowering and surprisingly intelligent mind flooded. And I stand here with no progress made at all, stuck in the same stale surroundings. I took over Shona's apartment. Paying bills with dirty money, never escaping my disgusting habits. I'm even waiting on a client. A client I know very well, he's not as seedy as some. He wants sex and that's it, he doesn't want to kiss my neck and tell me how much he loves me. 

I hear a knock at the door. I look in the mirror to see if I'm sexy enough. I open it up to an overweight man in a grey suit, I can smell the sweet aftershave that hasn't been sprayed sparingly. 

The feeling of his thick body on mine is revolting. I'm a stick insect compared to him, breaking under his weight. I can feel my guts wretch, my stomach trying to withstand his. The smell of sweat too. Making me feel sick, but at least it distracts me from the intercourse. I don't feel aroused or attracted at all, he isn't handsome or spontaneous, he's just a lost soul colliding with his self-respect head on. He wants to feel wanted, he wants to know that they're outlets for him to erase the sexual tension for a while. 

He finishes and removes himself from me. He turns over putting his head onto the pillow, out of breath and unfit, he looks at the waterlogged ceiling. He gives me $300 and kisses me on the cheek. He dresses himself and leaves me lying there naked with a cigarette in my hand. I've done my duty and he's left a happy customer, it still makes me feel like a used cannon. But, it's my only hope of living and breathing, my only chance of survival in these tough times. 

The morning shine comes in through the ragged curtains. I rise from the hard bed and I put on my clothes. My body aches and I feel completely drained and out of drugs. I need drugs to function from day to day, I need them to force my way through the b------- and angst. Leaving the apartment, I go into the Chicago air, air that smells like gun smoke. 

Chicago is a City that moved to. I moved here to get away from Suburbia, to challenge myself. But all I've did is fall into a rut. America has it's dark places and this City is perceived to be as dark as they come. Seedy and drugged up, blackened by the gutters. But I am far from being a noble citizen. I'm no saint and I know deep down I'm my own worst enemy. The house at the end of the street is where Jackson lives. A drug dealer that knows what I want and need, he knows what I crave and his knowledge on drugs is fundamental. Today I might try something new, today I'll trap the demon in me, today I might honour nothing. 

I find myself smoking weed with Jackson and talking. His young face still has time to wrinkle due to the nicotine and pot. We sit in his room, posters hang on the walls, pictures of naked woman. Discarding the images in the bin in my mind I look at the bag of brown stuff that sits on the old CD case. My eyes become increasingly fixated, I wonder and wonder what it is, is the drug to take me to paradise? It is the drug to banish all depressive motives. 

'Jackson' 

'Yeah' 

'What's that brown stuff' 

'Oh you don't want that' 

'Why?' 

'It's the stuff that'll grab you like a giants hand and won't let you go. It'll crush your life. I don't want to see that' 

'Come on, let's try it. I won't die I promise' 

Jackson looks at me. The simple little shrug of the shoulders represents the sheer hesitation. But he eventually gives in, letting me seek out the monster. 

'It's your own back, if anything goes wrong it's your fault' 

Jackson burns the brown stuff into a liquid form. It looks like a really sinister caramel. He then fills up a syringe. He hands me it with an expression of disapproval on his face, but why do I care? I want to lie on the clouds, feel the silky skin of the angels, trap the downward spiral in its tracks. I try to find the most prominent vein, I wrap a piece of rope around my arm, the vein pops out like an eyeball.

By sinking the needle into my bloodstream, I am giving the crimson an obscure colour of brown. I'm touching danger, imminently bringing on chaos, flooding my clean blood, overpowering the oxygen that keeps it alive. But, braving the storm is what I need to do, organising the mess into bundles in my head can happen another time. 

Euphoria kicks in. I feel a strange vibe shooting through me. Falling onto the bed, I look at the ceiling. Wishing it to open up, revealing an eloquent picture. Then I look at Jackson. He looks weird, his eyes as black as tar on a terrible pair of lungs. I can't hear what he's saying, the words are like bubbles of nothingness. The pulsating feeling of losing myself is dangerous but wonderful, this drug is poisonous like the others, even more so, but f------, I'm feeling good. 

I can barely move. I feel weightless, I might just fly away like a balloon creeping up on the clouds. My skin rubbery, the hole in my arm succinct, the seediness compelling. Jackson's smile is overly flamboyant, slightly creepy, but I smile back, the biggest smile I've produced in a long while. The optimism is unrelenting, damaging, but I've unearthed something so brilliant. Today I can't see the blackness, all I see is a flashing light and a spark of the dramatist in me. It will wear off, they all do. It will depart, but I ain't thinking about that. 

They say you can get hooked on this. This liquidised gold. They say the first hit is dreamy. Then you constantly thrive for it again, but it never feels the same. I don't know? It's my first time escalating to the top of the world, the calmness, there is no drone, no loud noises just a placid room full of smoke and truth. Jackson sits there entranced by my actions, he dots on me though, keeping me from falling onto to deaths doorstep. 

The next morning. My head feels heavy and my tongue razor sharp, I need water, a flood to hydrate me. I find myself on Jackson's bed. He's asleep on the floor, curled up and probably dreaming. The kitchen is surprisingly in order. I pick out a glass from the cupboard. I gulp down the water like a drought is about to warp the world, my hands shake and my body aches, this comedown is unparalleled
MusicMyLife
Regular Member

 
Posts: 212
Joined: Jun 23, 2012
Location: Carluke, Scotland.
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