Purgatory's Abyss

I have come to be thoroughly disgusted by addiction

It is revolting to watch the sadism of a fiend

It can be seen as nothing but grotesque and obscene

I have come to ask for rejection from the path to perdition

I’m high right now. Are you high too? I’m probably more high. Higher. Higher. Higher and higher the bug goes up the wall, in great detail with fascination I watch it crawl. Sitting on the couch feeling happy, my eyes feel so weary, my mind feels so heavy and my body feels so dreary. Wearing me down this old thing, twenty five years of madness. Taco cries and laughs, dancing in circles in this dirty living room. Money in the air, money on the floor. Club music blasts from the stereo, I wander in and out of reality. What is this vanity that has overtaken my insanity? Is this the greatest glory I can ever hope to have? It is in this moment that I realize that this is what it was all for. It’s in every moment like this one that I feel no greater satisfaction can be achieved. Constantly chasing the emptiness and filling the void, I am my greatest fear.

I wonder if I died from an overdose and this is actually heaven? Or was it earlier than that? Did I die when I was shot by Lucky? Did I die earlier than that even? Was I ever really alive? Who am I kidding, I wouldn’t go to heaven and this for sure ain’t hell. Maybe I died back then? Maybe I've long been dead, dreaming I was walking among the living. Waking in a dream while still asleep, holding my subconscious captive.

Lucky was an unlucky bum that kept on getting lucky breaks until he didn’t. Everyone knew he was an addict too, everyone except for Slim. Maybe Slim knew too, probably he didn’t want to know. Slim practically raised Lucky like a little brother. They had come up together in the foster home, and had served time together, first in juvie, then upstate. Slim ran things in the streets. He got his nickname back when he used to be slim and violent. A dozen years in a cage now he was a Big Slim. Slim and Lucky got locked up together back when Slim was 18 and Lucky was 15 in a robbery gone wrong. Lucky paroled after seven and Slim did the whole bid. Now that he was out he ran the streets, and kept the houses on lock.

Lucky could have been his right hand if he weren’t so stupid. He was always messing up, so that’s why he stayed lucky but never got rich. Always on the side, never up front, nobody dared to touch him because his relationship with Slim was his status, but that was the only reason. Taco heard the word from a little bird that Lucky was holding big. He talked about it outside the bodega. I remember I told him to shut his trap before he got us killed. Big talk, that’s what I call Taco. That’s all he does, always talking how one day he’s finna kick the habit, move us out of here, buy a crib, with a dog and some kids, we can settle nice. Please, five minutes later he’s scheming how to get a bag, hunchback rolling dice.

We liked to hang out outside the liquor store that we couldn’t go in. Sometimes we robbed people but that’s only if we got desperate. Taco never tried to make me work the streets, “I was his woman” he claimed, and he wouldn’t have me shared. Sometimes when things got bad even that became big talk. Mostly we could scrape by just riding the subway, spare changing our way to wealth and glory.

Hunger fuels my mania, desperation formicates my veins, oozing through my pores, euphoria to hysteria, visible to the naked eye, revolting every single passer-by. I need it. I need it now. I always need more. I was slump inside his arms on the far end of the subway car. We had to stink bad because the marks gave us mad room. I was standing now. Screaming now. Why am I screaming again? Everyone is looking at me without looking. Now their staring’s overt. I told Taco to do it. We had to do it. Taco thinks I’m crazy. He knows. He’s begging me to sit down now. “Calm down baby girl, chill!!” There is no chill but in my heart. He knows. Now he’s mad too, he’s shouting, we’re making a scene. Taco’s calling me names, he slaps me. Someone feints like they’re gonna rise out of they’re seat but they quickly look away. Just fronting no stunting. Nobody cares. Of this I know.

This is the last stop, last stop, this train is Manhattan bound making all express stops. We get off. We decided to do it. We agreed. One last thing. Screw Lucky the unlucky, he didn’t know what was coming. Nobody dares touch Big Slim’s people, till now, till us. We’re gonna rob his bag and dip. We can split town, then rob people in every place we pass until we have enough money to settle down!! It’s a plan. I like the plan, it’s gonna work. I need it. I want it. It’s mine.

We knew he had the bag but we didn’t know where, we didn't know when, so we followed him for a day, just until then. First we needed a fix. Taco sold me to Lucky for a small bag of boy. We couldn’t do this sober anyway so I agreed to be his toy. I still had some shape, but poison sucked away my youth. Doing this gave us the opportunity to potentially see where he kept his stash. I got inside his car and made him happy for some cash. Later that night we were back outside. Staying low-key. I overheard Lucky saying to his boy he was gonna re-up. He was talking on the phone. He’s so stupid. Everybody’s listening. Lucky's chilling on the corner rapping with his boys. Taco and I are laying by the trash nodding out, out of sight, out of mind.

Lucky's the only fool I know who stalks the night with his re-up bag and isn't squad deep. Let his arrogance be his own demise. Yea though he walks through the alleys and the projects at night, his eyes rise to dark skies when life flies by last cries. He was always cool but he deserves this. We need this bread more than he does. He’s had a good life. Good enough. At the end of the day it’s kill or be killed out in these streets, survival of the fittest. That’s how I knew that I really needed it.

He's approaching the steps of the houses now, the lights outside are dimly lit an amber glow. It’s an empty middle of the night with no moon, only somber shadows follow. He sees me first. A smile cuts across his chubby grape face. "Hey baby, back for more?" When Taco’s hand flickers in the rear confusion possesses his expression, excitement becomes shock now. Exclamation and fear, now he knows too. "You stupid little..." The silver in my grip crossed through his fat stomach, disemboweling his lunch. He'll never finish his sentence.

A neon light from a store across the street catches my peripheries and paranoia kicks in. Oh shit, it's five-O! I hear myself shout, not sure what I saw but we started to run. We hadn't gotten far when we realized we forgot to grab the bag. We’re bugging out. Back at the body digging for treasure. Grab the phone, wallet, gold chain, diamond chain, gold ring, diamond encrusted watch. Keep digging. He’s still alive!!! He's rolling and groaning, barely conscious. “Please…” I think I hear him moaning. Clutching his innards, grasping for some luck. We have to hurry, we may be seen. I dig inside his drawers pulling out the paper bag. Back inside his drawers, I dig some more, digging deeper and deeper. All fiends think alike. I know that it's there, I even know where. I find his small bag of purity, hidden in his jail pocket assuredly. Taco opens up the paper bag, Jackpot! Brimming full with stacks of dirty bills in rubber bands. 5's, 10's, 20's "We’re rich!!" Taco shouts. Shut-up you fool!! Stop making it hot!! Taco finds a little black book inside Lucky’s back pocket with some keys on a keychain. The book looks like a ledger. A ledger of blood. He takes the little black book too. Where's his gun though? "Whatever! We gotta dip! Now you're making it hot!!" I know he holds weight, I know this for sure. "Come on, we got the money let's bounce!!!" Taco’s pleading in my ear, no time to fight. We panic and run. As we flee the scene, shots pierce through the silence of the night. I knew he had a gun. Sucks to be right. Pain and darkness envelop my horizon. I trip and fall. I rise again.

Back inside the living room, counting stacks. Taco is crying and laughing at the same time. "20 grand even!!" he's shouting, crying in disbelief. Shaking his head, bloody money in his hands, "this was supposed to be ours!!!" Sobbing into blood. "What am I supposed to do without you baby girl?" Hunger fuels his mania, from hysteria to euphoria, he’s laughing into tears now, "the 20 grand is all for me though!!" This he knows. What does he mean by that? That money's ours, we earned it together. Survival of the fittest. I've already made myself a fix. I'm high right now. Too high to talk. Higher and higher the bugs crawl up the wall. Crawling in my mind, eating through my soul. Higher and higher I go. Falling forever into purgatory's abyss. Listening to the club music blast on the stereo, watching Taco dance in circles inside this dirty living room. Money in the air, money on the floor. Maybe formication is an actuality, wandering in and out of reality, wondering when vanity became insanity. Existing in the greatest glory between life and death is my deepest woe. I am my own worst foe. It's in every moment like this one that I feel like no greater satisfaction can be achieved. Constantly chasing the emptiness and filling the void, I am my only fear.