I haven't seen any of them since the party, but I know I have to get it over and done with soon. As I look back, I realized I wronged myself, I wronged my family, and I wronged my friends. I remember the looks of disgust, of hate, of anger. It was an icy night in January I got invited to a party by some of my friends. Half-drunk from being out on the town, I staggered to his house, like a ship on a stormy day. Arms flailing, slurred speech, blurred vision. As I stumbled down the quiet street, a low drone of the music slowly seeped from the house. The tidy street was lit by the dull amber glow of the street lamps. The houses seemed somewhat sinister, but also shone with a friendly glow. I walked up to the path, ready to have some fun, talk with friends, have a laugh, and make some money.
I opened the door and walked in. This place was loud in comparison to the small, well-kept street I had just been in. As I got used to the bright lights, the blaring music and the mass of people, I heard a voice, a familiar voice. It was Jake, my best friend. “Slash!” He shouted. My nickname goes back a while, since I had been a kid. Jake had been one of the few who had stuck by me through it all. “Slash! Over ‘ere!” he boomed. I walked calmly over to him. My body, hardly able to support my weight, felt limp. It was a struggle to push through the herds of people grouped together quietly gossiping or talking about the next party. My neglected hair, brushed past my eyes, I swiftly threw it back with my long bony fingers, they scratched me as I did this. The long sharp fingernails, stained a yellow-ish colour. As I walked closer, I could see he was eager to see me. His deep blue eyes glistened with excitement, he came up to me. He quickly asked if I had the “stuff.” The exchange took place quickly, the money passed from his hand to mine, and the small bag of pills, mine to his. I had been in “business” for a couple of months now, no proper job, no money. I only did this because I needed money, none of my family knew, I was glad.
The chatting was scarce for me, nobody wanted to talk, I didn’t feel like listening anyway. All I could think about was the way I had treated my friends, neglect, anger and terrible mood swings. I’m surprised any of them at all stood by me. Throughout the night I gained more and more money, and lost more and more of the small bags in my deep jacket pockets. Gradually the house got quieter and quieter. The music got slower and slower. It had now hit the early morning hours. Jake came up to me, a wad of cash in his hand. I wanted to refuse, his wedding was in around a month, his fianc?e, my sister, would be mortified if she knew, about me or him. I wanted to refuse, but the money. The money, I needed it. I hastily gave him one of the last 3 bags in my pocket.
I fell into a silent depression, a couple of minutes later, screams and shouting erupted all around. I pushed my way through the panicked group eager to see what had happened. What I saw almost killed me with shame. Jake. On the ground, having a fit. Slowly his eyes seeped the life inside him. They turned a grey, they had become duller and had now he was still. I threw up. I couldn’t help it, my best friend had just died, in my sight, because of me.
The paramedics tried. They took him away to the closest hospital, but were too late. This was the worst feeling I had ever felt. I don’t know how I should act now, I killed my best friend, my sister’s love of her life. The events of that night run through my mind a lot. The cold street, the loud music, the chatter of people, the money passing from hand to hand, the screams, Jake lying there, the paramedics. All that led to this. I haven’t seen any of them since the party, but I know I need to get it over and done with soon.
touching
