22nd December 2021, Wenesday
Morning

Jasper chucked the plastic tag in the bin, brushing the dust off the arms of his new long sleeved cotton white shirt which had deep coffee stains down the chest, on his legs had wore a large and new pair of torn black cargo trousers, some of the tears sewn together with technicolour patchwork, they sagged off his skinny frame, a thick pale pink corduroy overtop the top of it that bulked him up, the patchy fur collar upturned and shielding his neck from the cold and crisp late morning chill, above him the rising sun was hidden behind a grey curtain of clouds and the ashy smog of the city.

The clothes came to a total of £20 from a charity shop-£5 for the old, torn patchwork cargo trousers and £15 for the pink corduroy. The shirt he stole, shoving it under his jumper where he had a bag of beef jerky he'd stolen from a corner shop, the latter of which was screwed up in skip, blanketed with a black swarm of flies along with his old trousers.

He turned a corner, struggling to limp his way back he eventually reached where he needed to go-a shadowy back alleyway with decaying burgundy brick walls, which were plastered with graffiti, imposed on either side, a skip that stunk pungently of rotting animal flesh and old milk tossed out by the various shops, sour piss, acrid bile and vomit from where drunkards had purged hit his numb nose harshly, causing it to wrinkle and curl. A rat scampered across the drain as at the end of the alleyway, under the cover of a sheet of scrap metal held upright by loudly wooden poles.

Cutie lay, head on his paws, floppy ears perked up and mahogany eyes widened as Jasper approached, as he limped closer he became cloaked in the shadows of the alleyway, slipping a frail hand into the pocket of his pink corduroy and producing the pack of beef jerky, causing Cutie's tail to wag slowly and his dry nose to wiggle, the faint smell of the dried beef barely detectable over the grotesque heap of other smells.

The only sound of the disgusting retreat was the distant drone of city life, of mundane conversations and crying babies, buzzing hoards of flies and the slow dripping of stale water from the overhead gutters that landed on the sheet metal before rolling down into the puddle at Cutie's front paws.

Jasper lowered himself down, pressing his spine against a slippery wall as he fumbled to take his battered shoes off, he eventually pulled them off along with his brown socks before rubbing talcum powder onto his thick soles, sliding his feet down so they rested on Cutie's back, the warmth of his bristled fur body soaking into his exposed skin.

He tore open the pack of beef jerky with his yellowed teeth, before placing a strip of it in front of Cutie, who ravenously wolfed it down as Jasper replaced it with three more strips as he ate one himself, struggling to chew through it as he took out his small bag of ketamine crystals, breaking up approximately 40mg of them, before snorting them into his right nostril.

"I wish I had some real guidance...everyone I knew either said all drugs are terrible or all drugs are wonderful..." Jasper bemoaned after a few minutes, his thoughts becoming more simplistic yet thick and muscles unwinding as his whole body began to relax.

I wonder if my parents had been better would I be where I am now?

As he began to reminisce about his childhood, about his parents pressuring him to get the best grades possible, about his parents disowning him and saying they hated him after finding a quarter of an eighth of weed in his school bag, he felt his right leg begin to sting numbly-as if it was remembering when his mother forcing his leg into scolding hot water after he was caught smoking weed.

"I know both them of them are wrong...but if I know drugs aren't wonderful then why can't I stop?" he continued a few minutes later, starting to get lost in between his thoughts and talking, beginning to get a fluffy lightness in his brain as he took out his crack pipe and loaded it with roughly 40mg of crystal meth, he lit the bowl and took a deep inhale of the smoke.

I don't have a problem, it's everyone else who has a problem.

That might of applied a few years back when I was just doing weed and shrooms and acid...but not when now I'm doing crystal and heroin daily.

I can stop when I want.

He took another deep lungful of the crystal meth.

Yeah, I can stop whenever I want.

No I can't-I want to stop more than anything, I wish I could.

I will, one day, I promise I will.

"I wish I could just tear out the part of my brain that wants me to do drugs," he snapped as he exhaled a thick stream of white smoke and coughed harshly, brows furrowing as a faint and dark smile twitched onto his face momentarily.

But it's more complicated than than. It's not just in my brain. It's in everything-my blood, my heart, my soul. It's like a war in me. 

"Fuck my head, I wish I could just bash my head into a brick wall till I stopped thinking so much-then I could be happy because I was too dumb to be realise how fucked up the world is," he said as a buzzing began to whirr in his brain, his skin began to tingle and crawl as if the sleeves of his shirt were needling it, his body now feeling weightless from the ketamine.

This makes everything okay for me because I can't do it myself. I need them so bad but I shouldn't. I shouldn't have to live like this but it's my fault.

He then felt a tidal wave of euphoric rush and crash over his entire being, the weightless yet confusing freedom of ketamine coupled with the electrifying clarity of crystal meth allowed him to alleviate his own sorrows with ease and navigate his hidden labyrinthine mind, however the euphoria faded just seconds after it appeared and while all the anguish and pain had vanished the same bliss would not return, instead he was left with a fuzzy warm, a deep introspection and just enough energy to stay awake to enjoy the weak high.

I'm not even high. At least not high like I used to be. This is laughable-I just feel nothing, numbed. This is a sick joke and I'm a fucking punchline.

"It's so ironic-I done drugs because they were the one thing that stopped me feeling depressed and now I do drugs because they are the one thing that makes me the most depressed when I don't do them. What's the point of anything?" he muttered wearily, looking to a sleeping Cutie for answers.

He continued the routine, snorting ketamine and then smoking crystal a few minutes after that, till he had smoked an eighth of his crystal meth and an eighth of his ketamine-when the mild buzz began to fade he became aware of the dark sky streaked with purples and oranges and a rising moon, he realised it was early evening.

"Fuck this pity party shit-lets go panhandling," Jasper groaned, putting on his shoes and socks before standing up, putting away his lighter and pipe and drugs, Cutie stood up too, wagging his tail eagerly as he followed by Jasper's side, who limped toward the local shopping centre-the best spot to make big money.

He squatted down outside the window of an expensive perfume shop adorned with fancy Christmas decorations, the smell of lavender and roses barely able to permeate the smog of squalor that clung to Jasper and Cutie, who laid across Jasper's lap as he tried to soothe a migraine and the burning cramps of his nauseous stomach, feeling bile rise to the back of his throat, he began to shake.

Within half an hour his blurring vision of the passing city life was cartwheeling and dotted with blackness, his heavy head lolling as his eyes rolled loosely in their sockets, heart thrashing and then abruptly stopping in his chest, the spiralling chaos and ripping pain shooting across his body was broken only by the gruff sound of a friendly voice.

"Here you go, have a good Christmas," a suited man said, dropping a £30 note in his plastic cup, where it fell amongst the loose change, giving a firm nod and smile to a sweating and shaking Jasper before moving on.

The silent agony which seemed deafening, from his cramping muscles and stinging veins to burning stomach and splitting migraine, screamed even louder, demanding to be heard, before fizzling out to a dull ache.

Jasper's eyes fell across a laminated piece of paper that hit his left foot, he winced as he stretched forward to hit it away, as he went to squat it he saw a photo of Cutie, fat and fluffy, with his tongue hanging out happily surrounded by bright green grass-above the photo was the big and bold caption: 'DOG MISSING
£200 REWARD'

They are going to steal him from me. He's mine and they want him. They want me alone. They want me to suffer. They want to kill me.

Cutie whined, watching intently as trembling Jasper laboriously heaved himself to his unsteady feet, groaning and sweating as he staggered uncoordinatedly, quaking legs buckling as he crumpled to his knees, catching his fall with his hands as vomit rushed up his raw throat and spewed out of his mouth, Jasper's eyes screwed shut and watered as bright red blood began to trickle down his chin till he was choking up acrid and bloody strings of jaundice bile.

They want to kill me. They want to kill me. They want to kill me. They want to kill me.

Jasper opened his misty eyes, looking down at the puddle of vomit and bile and blood that smelt like death, his tears dropping down to mix into the macabre concoction as he saw screaming skulls lift out of the putrid puddle-razor sharp claws of blood and bile scratched incessantly, slowly dragging the claws across his skin to cause him excruciating misery, till his skin broke.

His vision slowly changed to pure white, his heart flittering and beating weakly as ice cold sweat poured down his body, trickling into his mouth to leave a salty taste, making his clothes stick to his body, he coughed up a few drops of blood before flopping down besides his pile of body fluids, as Cutie padded up to him, licking his ghostly white cheek, Jasper clutched a handful of his wire fur as he clung to consciousness, Cutie laid quietly at his side.

His ghostly head beginning to spin as his cracked and blue lips parted, a shallow breath escaping them as he bitterly hissed out three words, expression tormented and haunted, lips twisting into a feral snarl, his glazed over eyes burning with a dark intensity as he envisioned a hellish river of hot blood rushing over his face, closing his eyes and he ran his fingers up and down his damp skin, a freezing chill shooting down his spine.

"Just kill me."

"Just kill me."

(I listened a lot to Hey Now! by Oasis while writing this, been listening to a lot of Oasis lately. Also listened to Brush Away by Alice in Chains-I don't think it fits as well but the song is definitely a good one for the overall theme of this story. I also listened to Stupid Girl by Garbage and Wherever I May Roam by Metallica. I think those songs fit well this chapter nonetheless, hope this chapter was good! Sorry it's kinda short, btw the setting will change soon-don't be afraid to give any critique, I want to improve as an author)