I
look fuckin’ terrible.
It’s been my 26th straight day on the morphine.
Yesterday I hurt so bad, I wanted to tear a new ass hole in the fuck
who was carrying, then take the dope.
That’s the biggest problem with these fucks, they get you wired.
Then say, “It’s my dope.” Sorry punk, not anymore its not, its
now “junkie property”.
Of course I would never have done that, but it’s a terrible thought
process to go through, fuckin terrible.
Hold on a second, the mail just came.
You
are not gonna fucking believe this.
I got HIV!!! Fucking-a. man, apparently they inject you with the
Shit to see if you have antibodies.
Maybe they gave it to me.
No.
I know who gave it to me.
Hold on again.
I’m
a walking fucking ghost man.
I cannot believe this Shit.
The least those creeps at Heath Care could’ve done was call me down
and tell me.
“Christopher
Early 589127-B we regret to inform you, you have tested positive for the HIV
virus.
Your name will be printed on a call-out sheet as soon as
possible....”
Can’t
read it again.
I’ve done it sixty times already.
I’m a fuckin' dead man!
I’m serving a twenty-three year sentence for various crimes.
Assaults, robberies and shoot-outs with the cops.
I’m not whining about the sentence. Believe me, it was fair enough.
Life is a twisted ride and some tunnels are darker that others.
But I had less than three years to go before my release date.
Twenty in and three to go, now this.
In-fuckin'-credible.
The cells just cracked, hold on.
So
I grab B (I’m not gonna say his name in case I decide to kill him) and
tell him I know its him that gave it to me.
Trading butt-shots with that fuckin’ drag-queen, then doing smashes
with me, He got lippy and I punched his fuckin’ face in, ass hole
mouthpiece!
An hour later he showed up with 2 grays (one hundred milligram
morphine tablets), 2 flaps (paper packages of heroin) and a brand new rig
(syringe).
I started to laugh.
A little late for that now, ain't it?
His swollen eyes blink out an apology.
We peeled the grays (rub the coating off), cooked the pills and fired
the dope.
Then we both sat back and nodded.
B was already HIV positive and I knew it but I figured the bleach
would kill it.
I looked at his mottled, beaten face and felt like Shit for having
done that.
This was my fault entirely and I know it.
This brought on a whole slew of emotional and mental problems for me,
so I split to my own cell to try to somehow come to grips with it.
I thought I’d write something profound and awe-inspiring.
Here’s what I came up with.
*************************
It’s
March 27, 1999 and I just found out I’m dying of HIV
I’ve also just finished doing a couple of huge hits of narcotics.
Morphs and junk, my entire existence, Thing I hate about the morphs
is that they always hurt the crook of my arm.
Anyway back to my ultimate demise.
You know maybe its because its still too soon to gather all this, but
I’ll be damned if I can find anything at all deep to say to you.
I’ll tell ya this though.
There were times when I would grab the rig, dose it once with water
and plunge it into my vein.
Cause at that moment only one thing mattered, the high.
Fuck bleach, fuck AIDS just give me the mind dulling narcotic rush.
No baby!
Not a thing in the world mattered except that high.
Not everyone was as bad as me, some had control.
But there were enough like me running around.
Lost men looking for souls through dope.
Shit! I hope I don’t die soulless.
That would really be fucked.
Wandering for eternity.
No thanks.
You know, I could’ve died a thousand ways in my life.
Instead I let a simple, petty little addiction steal it from me.
How fuckin pathetic is that? I’m going to go nod.
I
just looked in the mirror again.
I can see the Shit slithering just under my skin man.
The dope has worn off and my arms and legs are starting to dance like
they have palsy or some Shit.
Well those were my words of wisdom.
Pretty smart guy eh? HA HA HA Billy and me made a deal today.
I bet he ain’t got the guts to carry his end.
My name is Correctional Officer John Williams and I cut Chris down from the ceiling of his cell at exactly 2:37 am. His partner, Billy Williams (no relation) was cut down by another officer at almost the exact same moment. It’s been another busy night in Hell.
Chris Cowdrey a.k.a.
Rooster
Other Short Stories by Chris Cowdrey
Last Update 09/05/09