Damien Lazarus

It was a strange and dark day. A day with a cold breeze that silently slipped through the trees. Though it was summer, the breeze was cold enough to make the toughest of stones shiver, and yet the sun was shining brightly with not a cloud in sight. The grass was green but slowly beginning to fade to brown as it always does when the hot summer sun sucks the very life force from it. The sky was vivid hue of blue, both warm and inviting one to fly through it on the wings of the days chilly breeze. This was the day his life would change, and change it did.

He, being of sound mind and body was named Damien Lazarus. He was a tall light skinned man with rich black hair to his shoulder. His eyes, a stormy shade of grey, obscuring a longing for happiness. Though he was skinny, his muscles were well developed. He may not have looked it but he was force to be reckoned with , both physically and mentally. He adorned him self with pitch black garments, a warning to the shallow consumers he encountered daily, to tread softly in his presence.

Emerging from the front door of his hole in the wall apartment, he shuddered as the bone chilling breeze bit him. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he twirled his full length black denim duster squarely onto his broad shoulders. Quickly feeding his arms through the sleeves of his duster, he thought of the women he met the night before. She was beautiful and had the personality to match it. He grinned remembering how wonderful life was and how much better it could get. He then quickly climbed into his truck and headed for town.

* * * * * *

It was dark in the dance club with exception to the flashes of red, blue, and green colored lights followed by the violent barrage of attacks supplied by the strobe light that brought all movement to a stop motion crawl. The music, combined with the roar of the crowd, was a deafening cacophony that nearly hindered his ability to hear his own thoughts within his head. Even with this in mind he felt a presence. It was the presence of beauty and danger all rolled into one fiery piece of brimstone and sulfur. Damien allowed none of this to interrupt his conversational horse play with his friends.

Link Mulder had been his friend since the fourth grade. They were truly inseparable. Link had a certain air of wisdom about himself that resided in the knowledge he had about music and cars. These were Link's true passions. He stood at 5 feet and 11 inches and wore his hair short in a spiked fashion with the tips dyed a dark shade of blue. His style closely mirrored Damien's with the exception of an abundance of color. The other man seated at the tabled was Warren Gains but he was better known as Warg. Warg hailed from almost a totally different Universe than both Link and Damien. His clothing screamed consumer whore but his mental state was far from what his clothes stated. He was a true example of how you cannot judge a book by its cover. Warg had only moved to Seattle about a month ago. Damien happened to be the first resident to befriend the enigma known as Warg.

With their drinks in hand and their cigarettes lit they began to scan the crowd and take in the view of mindless zombies swaying to the rhythmic trance. Suddenly, with no warning and most likely due to being half drunk and trying to dance, a young lady fell into Damien's lap. Their eyes met in the dark smoky haze of the club and they almost instantly became friends. He asked for the lady's name and offered her a seat at their table. She responded, saying that her name was Lana Eve and she graciously accepted the chair that was offered. Damien took the lead in introducing himself followed by both Link and Warg. She chuckled lightly at Warren's nickname and stated that she knew it spurned from a novel written by the late great J. R. R. Tolkien. This opened the conversations to the various different aspects of pop culture and their own place in society. As a result Damien felt a strong connection to Lana, and felt that this was the girl he had searched for his entire life.

* * * * * *

The room was dimly lit by one small desk lamp that was aimed at the crumbling, white acoustic ceiling. The walls were a pale sickening shade of pink, and much like the ceiling they were covered in the brown outlines of water stains, compliments of the leaky roof. Against one wall sat a broken down green plaid couch that reeked of cat urine and was covered in a thick layer of loose cat hairs. Directly across the room, against the other dengy wall sat an old black and white television set with only three legs. replacing the fourth leg were three books, two of which the titles were indistinguishable and the third most definitely an encyclopedia of some origin. Next to the ancient entertainment device sat a weak appearing table that supported the only source of light for the room. The table legs were spindly and near the point of collapsing under the burdening wait of the CD player boom box. Upon the table were strewn many spent lighters, a couple of empty miniature Ziploc baggies, a light bulb and a small hand held mirror. On the mirror were the white powdery remnants of a gram of speed.

Speed. Crank. Ice. Meth or methamphetamines, such a dirty dangerous substance. It's the glue that binds stupid criminals (as if there are smart criminals) to the stupid crimes they commit. Damien could remember a time not to long ago when he swore he would never do stuff like this, but here he sat, spun out of his sleep deprived mind. With a pen in hand, he furiously tried to jot down ever thought that crossed his mind. Warg sat across the table from Damien quietly fiddling with a small broken electronic device of indeterminable origin. Warg listened as Damien wielded his pen like a sword and rambled on almost incoherently. He occasionally released a grunt of acknowledgement to let Damien know that he was still listening. From the kitchen they could hear the rattle-clang-bang of Lana cleaning. Every time it was the same hustle and bustle that came with her being spun, and every time she was virtually ignored by both Damien and her boyfriend Warg. That's right last time you and I spoke it was going to be Lana and Damien who hooked up. Well, turns out that Lana was married and at the time Damien still had a few morals left in his now rancid mind. So out of respect for holy matrimony he stood down. Warg, on the other hand, didn't care so he began to pursue a physical relationship with her causing her to leave her husband and pick up what would rot her brain for an eternity.

Boiling in the back of Damien's mind was a violent struggle between two powerful men. One, a being embodying all that is moral and righteous. The keeper of proper ethics. The bringer of dreams and the spirit of aspirations. The second man, was the darker of the two beings. The dream crusher and the hope slayer. The meaning of grief and the demon of desperation. For two years, since the death of his brother, this war has raged. Now in his lowest form and sleepless insanity the demon was winning. Here he had lost sight of home and thrown all moral beliefs out the window of selfish forgetting.

She came around the corner all skin and bones. Her eyes recessed in her forehead; sunken in their sockets like the corpse who lies in its grave. They were not dead though. Instead they darted violently and quickly taking in every square inch of the room in mere milliseconds. Her shaky hands pulled up the only remaining seat. As she sat, she deftly scooped up a razorblade. She began scrapping up the remaining powder on the mirror, and much to her relief there was still enough left for another go around. She snatched up the glass bulb and scrapped the pile of white dust into it. Taking up a lighter, she raised the bulb so that the lamp shown thru it and struck her lighter. The powder began melting into a liquid form of the dastardly drug. She rolled the liquid around the bulb then allowed it to re-crystallize into an innocent appearing, clear snowflake pattern. Placing a hollowed out bic pen in her mouth, she struck the lighter once again, causing the bulb to roll wildly with white chemical smoke. She inhaled the white cloud thru the hollow pen and after a few short seconds she exhaled an almost equal cloud. She quickly passed the bulb to Warg and departed back to the kitchen to finish the task she took on almost two days ago.

Warg raised the bulb to the light so that he could locate the dirty treasure that awaited him. He repeated to the tee, Lana's action and received his cloud of death, then releasing it with a small cough, indicating that his hit was too large for his lungs, he passed the bulb off to Damien. It was his turn, finally, he thought with a simple sigh of relief. This is where his morality was most taxed. Drugs. They were the bane of his existence, yet there he sat going against everything he declared and demanded of his own life. He would complete the ritualistic circle. All he had to do was mimic the actions of his immediate companions.

What would Paul think? Paul. Damien's younger brother. The brother that looked up to and respected Damien. This was Damien's best friend. The only problem was that Paul died two years ago. They were at home, Paul and Damien, cleaning their house for their mother during their summer vacation. Damien pulled the bag of trash from its receptacle and handed it to Paul, instructing him to take it to the trash box by the road. While Paul was completing the task he was hit by a passing car. Well, the car didn't really "pass" to say. In the driver's drunken state he lost control at the wheel and wound up pinning Paul between a tree and his car. The paramedics said that he had not felt any pain due to the fact that the initial impact was what killed Paul. Naturally, as it is the human thing to do, Damien blamed himself for Paul's death. His mother also blamed him for Paul's death. Damien didn't feel as though he deserved to live and turned his life over to the demonic hands of the monstrous grief that raged in his mind.

Now, here he sat, with a crack pipe in one hand and a lighter in the other. Almost distantly he could here the radio playing but he could not determine what song it was or who the artist was. He looked about the room wildly, and in doing so noticed his denim duster crumpled in a pile in the corner by the broken down sofa. He thought of how his dad and his brother, Paul, would frown upon his decisions. Paul, oh Paul, he thought as he took his turn. The blood rushed to his head, causing a momentary disorientation. He almost forgot where he was and he completely forgot what he was doing or what he was talking about. That's how it works though. Your mind moves to rapidly for your sleep deprived body to keep up. It's like your body is driving a Model T Ford and your brain is driving a Formula 1 race car.

Warg put his device down and took advantage of the moment of silence to suggest that they get some thing to drink. Damien snatched up his coat and clumsily put it on. He felt weak and energetic simultaneously. His body, which was once well defined muscle, was now skin and bones from a multitude of foodless and sleepless week ends. They informed Lana of the departure as they left the apartment. They both lit their cigarettes and began their walk to the convenient store at the corner.

* * * * * *

He woke up, feeling more groggy than when he began his battle for sleep. For a minute, he was unsure of what day it was and he was positive that he had no idea what time it was. Damien leaned over the railing that contain the upper bunk of his bed and looked at the clock. 11:45 A.M. He had already missed two of his classes. Mondays were usually like this, and it wasn't often that he went to class in the first place. He was a three year sophomore studying psychology. Rather, he would be studying psychology if he actually went to class. Instead, all he ever did was go to work and party. He had given up on going to his martial arts class as well. He felt that since he had obtained his black belt that he was an unstoppable fighting force and he needed no more physical guidance. Though he may have had the physical aspects of the art down, he was very lacking in his discipline. He laid his head back down, not caring that he was wasting thousands of dollars on the education that he was willingly not receiving. All he could think about now was sleep and he had till 4:30 P.M. to leave the apartment for work. He slipped into his dreamless sleep state of comfort and security. This was his haven, the only place he felt safe.

Damien woke up in a hot sweat. The air was filled with the pungent smell of meth laden body odor. It was bright outside and very warm. He glanced at the clock as he hopped down from his lofty haven. With his heavy eyes he searched the room for his uniform. He had about thirty minutes before he had to be coherent and clocked in at work. After dressing himself thru his sleepy haze he slipped his feet into his loosely tied skater shoes. He then filled his pockets with the various items he felt he would need that night. First, his wallet followed by keys to both his car and his workplace, a hackey sack, his MP3 player with headphones, and finally a small black zipper pouch that he produced from its hiding place within the black file cabinet he used for a night stand. This was his lie pouch, his bane wallet, or his paraphernalia packet. He personally called it his little black book. Within this book was a small metal cleaning rod, a lighter, a small glass straight pipe and another, smaller zipper pouch that contained his plants.

Pot. Buds. Sticky-icky. Weed. Cannabis or Marijuana, this was his stress reliever. It too was a dirty substance. At work it wasn't uncommon for him and his co-workers to step out back and smoke a blunt during the slow periods when there wasn't much business. He bought this directly from his employer. Selling drugs was a second job for Ernie Billings. Ernie, was paranoid, and had been known for carrying a gun at all times. He often tried to talk Damien into buying a gun for protection.

Today was special in Damien's drug-addled mind. Today was the day that he, himself would become a drug dealer. Today Ernie would supply him with his first quarter pound of weed. This QP would cost him 250 dollars, but he was receiving it on the front. On the front, meaning no money down. Instead he would fork over the 250 dollars after he sold the weed for a profit of 150 dollars. He had been given one week to pay the 250 dollars, or he would pay with his life.

Before leaving his house, Damien loaded his strait pipe. He loved his straight pipe. It was mostly clear glass with the exception of one red and one silver spiral that descended down the shaft of the two inch Pyrex glass piece. The pipe was used quite often and was caked with cannabis resin. He then, with his trademark move of flipping his wrist and spinning his coat onto his shoulders, stepped out the front door and lit the pipe.

* * * * * *

Work wasn't bad, Damien enjoyed the people that he worked with and somehow, whether it was from his stash or someone else's, he always stayed high. Ernie was there all night making tacos while Damien ran the drive thru window. They both had to close and afterwards Damien would make the trip out to Ernie's house to get the quarter pound. Meanwhile, Ernie had another gift for during work. After everyone left, except for Damien and himself, he would share it. Both, Warg and Link worked at the Taco Hut with Damien and Ernie. Though Warg, Damien, and Ernie were all three into doing their various drugs, Link only drank, and he drank like a fish. This however did not change the friendship between Link and Damien, they were still close as ever. As a matter of fact Damien had gotten Link to smoke pot on occasion.

The night went by in a blur, chasing the various conversations and debates that they held. They all loved to debate various things ranging from politics to science. They once debated on rather not a penguin was a bird or a mammal. Naturally, Damien, being the most educated of this Taco Hut cadre of employees, won most of the debates but Damien was willing to admit defeat when he lost. Finally, it was 10 o'clock, Damien and Ernie were the only workers left in the store. The lobby had been closed for an hour and there were no more drive thru orders except for the sporadic drunk or stoner who had the late night munchies. It was time for Ernie to reveal the surprise. They walked to the back of the store to the food prep tables. Laying on the table was a small framed picture In the frame was a certificate of achievement for some various task that one of the other managers had done. On the picture frame laid a straw that was cut in half along side a razor blade. From his pocket Ernie produced a small zip lock baggy filled with a white powder.

Coke. Snow. Blow or Cocaine, another dirty white substance, that Damien for some sick reason enjoyed. Ernie dumped some of the blow on the glass surface of the picture frame and snatched up the razorblade. He quickly began chopping the rocks into a fine powder, then proceeded to divide the powder into to equal lines. Next, he grabbed one half of the straw while simultaneously clearing his nasal passages. From the left line, that which was closest to him he snorted half of it into his left nostril then the other half in his right nostril. He pressed his fingers on the glass, collecting the remnants of his line, then began to brush it on his gums.

Damien, wearing the drive thru head set heard a loud ding. He reached down and hit the button to greet the customer in drive thru. He quickly and precisely took the customers order, and at the same time Ernie threw together, haphazardly the order that was taken. All the while there was a line of cocaine on the back prep table. By the time the customer's car approached the window Damien had placed in the bag a straw, for the drink, napkins, sauce packets, and the receipt. Damien handed the gentleman his chosen beverage and walked to the back of the store. It was understood that Ernie would hand the bag containing the food and condiments to the customer and thank him properly. Damien looked at the line of coke, snatched up the straw and repeated the process that was previously demonstrated by his co-worker, Ernie.

Almost instantly Damien's nasal passages went numb and in a matter of seconds he felt like a million dollars. As it is with all good cocaine, Damien needed to use the bathroom almost instantly after it took effect. Furthermore, he received a small energy boost that allowed him to become more focused on his dishwashing. Ignoring the call of nature he focused on his work. As it is known by his friends, Damien chooses to think that he is capable of rapping while he is coked out, but in reality he is just white trash that enjoys music and there was no radio playing.

Once done cleaning the store, Ernie and Damien left for Ernie's house Where Ernie proceeded to weigh out the "QP". It was handed to Damien with gratitude, for the $250 would go to pay for Ernie's soon due child's necessities. They both snorted another line of coke and then dusted some onto a bowl of weed, and smoked the primo bowl while they sat and talked about various different ordeals that they had been thru in their own personal lives.

* * * * * *

Damien awoke with a start. His alarm clock was in a rage of static and beeps, telling him to wake up and emerge from the dark cave that was his bedroom. It was Friday and Damien had already paid his debt to Ernie. Damien showered and rounded up his essentials after he dressed. Tonight he had a date with Sharron. He met Sharron at the job he had waiting tables before he started at the Taco Hut. They had been to many parties together and had decided to go on an official date. Damien was excited, for not only was he going on a date with a beautiful women that was notoriously easy, But in a film canister, which he had in his pocket, he had a surprise for both of them that would make the night more "enjoyable."

Damien knocked on the door and after a few seconds it opened, and there stood Sharron. She invited him in with a smile and then quickly locked the door behind them. In her paranoid state she not only locked the knob, but the deadbolt and chain as well. She sat down next to him and produced a tray from under the edge of the sofa. On the tray laid the various tools and ingredients needed to roll a blunt. As they were talking Sharron finished prepping the weed and rolling the blunt. She put the tray away and lit the chocolate flavored Phillie. Halfway thru their sweet smoke Damien produced his film canister. When asked what was in it, he flipped the lid off and emptied the contents onto the coffee table. There next to the ashtray and a half smoked pack of cigarettes, lay their surprise.

Rolls. "X." Candy. MDMA. It was Heroin based ecstasy. there were four pills, each one was a double stacked blue dolphin. They were named so because each blue pill was equivalent to two pills and had a dolphin stamped on one side. Sharron went to the kitchen and procured a glass of H2O. Damien popped two pills in his mouth and began chewing until they produced a thick paste. He spread the paste on his gums with his tongue then took a sip of water to wash the paste down his throat to his stomach where it would be thoroughly absorbed. Sharron followed his example and quickly mimicked the process.

In no more than fifteen minutes the first wave would hit them and they would be rolling. Colors would be brighter and more vivid. It feel as though the air around them was passing through every atom of their bodies. Everything would be intensified. When they touched each other they would melt under one another's fingertips.

They left Sharron's apartment rather hastily and sped from the parking lot in a frenzied rush in Damien's truck. They had made the decision to go somewhere they could dance and where the lights would be abnormally colored and bright. A night club where all the patrons would be messed up on some form of chemical, rather it be booze or something more intense. They danced, touching each other every chance they got, under the violent barrage of music and lights until Damien received a call from his friend Link. Link informed him of a private party he was at and said that he and whoever he was with should be there because there was a live DJ and free hooch.

Damien and Sharron left the club and quickly departed for the party. The next thing they knew blue lights were flashing from behind. Damien's heart began racing even faster than the "X" was causing it to. He slowed down and pulled into a parking lot and told Sharron, who was beginning to freak out, not to worry for he would take care of it. Though he was calm, Damien was extremely scared. If the cop decided to search the truck he would surely take Damien and Sharron to jail, for in the center console of his truck was a buffet of drugs. There was the remnants of Damien's "QP", two more X pills, a baggy continuing two chronic brownies, his "little black book", and various different prescription pain killers and muscle relaxers. Furthermore, on top of Damien's picnic basket of sin, he had in his truck a knife that was well over the legal size and no proof of insurance. This would definitely mean a trip to jail.

The officer informed Damien why he was being pulled over and asked for a drivers license and the other necessary paperwork. Not only was Damien being stopped for speeding, but he almost hit another vehicle and in the process he had cut the cop off. Definitely a trip to jail. The officer asked if Damien had any weapons or illegal substances that he needed to be aware of. Quick on his feet Damien explained that he had a knife and that it was only for show. He explained that he would pull it out, still in its sheath, and allow the officer to inspect it. The officer looked the knife over and informed Damien that it was indeed too large to be kept in the truck and that it needed to be left at home.

The officer returned to his squad car and ran both Damien's and Sharron's IDs. After a few minutes of Damien sweating it out the officer returned and let Damien and Sharron go, sternly warning Damien to slow down and be more mindful of other drivers. Damien sighed, smiled, and started his truck and calmly drove the rest of the way to Link's party.

When they reached the party Damien and Sharron where eager to tell of their exploits. After dispensing with the greetings and stories of near incarceration, they settled into the party. Repeatedly, waves of ecstasy ran through Damien's body. His backbone curled and his vision blurred. His mind was frenzy led by the DJ's rhythmic pounding techno trance. Sharron and Damien danced till their feet were numb. Never once did Damien think of the sins he was committing. He never thought of how he was disrespecting his creator. Thoughts of Paul never entered his mind as he was led into a bedroom where he and Sharron indulged in each others body till the early morning.

* * * * * *

The next morning he awoke. Aware of where he was he wondered where Sharron had disappeared to. Really, there was no telling with her. She had probably already found a ride home. Damien finished opening his eyes and took in the contents of the room. There was a large screen TV, a stereo, the bed he was laying in, a small night stand, and two bookcases that were littered with various model cars and other racing paraphernalia. On the night stand sat a prescription bottle. Damien picked the little brown bottle up and looked at the label. It was a bottle of adderal. Whoever normally slept in this room must have ADD. Paul had ADD. Paul was prescribed adderal. Legal amphetamines. He longed to see Paul's smiling face once again. He felt tears welling up in his eyes but quickly stopped them short. Damien composed himself and ate three of the pills from the bottle. He put his clothes on and quietly left the house.

By the time he got to work Damien's headache had been drown out by his racing thoughts. The adderal had kicked in and given him an intense burst of energy allowing him to keep up with his co-workers. Saturday was usually the same for Damien. More often than not he was hung-over and struggling to make it through the day. Today, however, was different. The stolen ADD medication had quelled his hangover and he was smoothly building the various tacos and burritos that appeared on the order screen above his head. After the lunch rush Damien's cell phone rang. He answered it to discover that it was one of his black market customers with an order for an ounce of his herb. That was perfect because it was the last of his product. He told his customer that he would have to come to the Taco Hut to get it, and in a matter of minutes the customer arrived. Damien wrapped the merchandise in a taco wrapper to conceal what it was and handed it over accepting the hundred dollar bill in exchange. He then sent the lad on his way, thinking that he could finally re-up and that he would party again tonight.

* * * * * *

It was weighed out on digital scales to assure accuracy. Hand held scales were just not reliable enough. It was four ounces; one quarter pound of marijuana. Damien handed over the 250 dollars. Ernie was grateful and cut out two fat lines of cocaine for Damien as well as two for himself. The coke was Ernie's way of thanking Damien for his business. Damien informed Ernie of the party that he was going to tonight and extended an invitation the quickly snorted one line of coke in each nostril. Damien's eyes widened as he opened his newly purchased sack and extracted enough bud for the blunt that Ernie had purchased on his way home. They would smoke their blunt then pack up their goodies and make a liquor run on their way to the party at John's house. John had a keg, various hard liquors, and hundreds of jello shots. John had taken the time, with Link and Damien's help, to convert his garage into a party room. The floor had been tiled, there was a pool table, a card table and a bar had been built and a massive stereo system was playing some rather serious rock music. sitting behind the bar was a familiar face. His name was Burt and Burt was a pharmacist. When Burt saw Damien he motioned for him to follow him. Damien grabbed a beer and a jello shot and followed Burt into the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, away from the prying eyes at the party, Burt produced a bag full of pills.

Bars. Xannies. Tonka Toys. Xanax. They were each slender, white, and a quarter of an inch long. Damien smiled and stretched out his hand. Burt placed two bars in his hand. One of which Burt instantly popped in his mouth and the other he crushed up on the counter and snorted. Fifty more Xanax were placed in another bag and the bag was given to Damien before they rejoined the party. The last thing Damien remembered was drinking a Corona and talking to John in the garage.

He woke up cold and wearing unfamiliar and uncomfortable clothes. He was laying in a bunk bed he did not recognize and the first thing he heard was, "Good morning, and welcome to cell block C."