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Chapter Two

So, he collection developed, until it became so big that he began to lose count of how many pills he was swallowing on a daily basis. Too many, but he didn't care. He thought they helped and that's all that matters to him. He began to forget how many times he would escape into his own little world, somewhere that he could forget everything that made him feel like that insignificant pebble on the beach. He was in his own high. It was as if he was in paradise. A dark, sad, lonely paradise.

But when he didn't swallow those pills, he was out of his constant high, and it was as if he was in a dark, dark vacuum with no means to escape. The night sky would constantly pour into his soul and never let him escape. There was nothing that he could do. It came into his body and took up every corner of his very being. So, that's when he decided to wonder. Wondering the streets at night, he would feel secure for the first time in a long time. Going places he had never been before and didn't know anything about made him feel as though he was doing something with his life. He would walk down by the river and touch the cold water with his hands and feel something. For the first time in a long time, he felt something other than when he swallowed those pills he craved. He wished he could walk for hours and hours and hours, but these walks he'd take at night didn't stop the constant aching and tiredness within his frail bones. They only made it worse.

It soon became apparent that he had little energy to do anything else apart from swallowing those pills and lying staring up to his blank ceiling. And so, that became it. He stopped walking for hours during the night, simply because he couldn't summon the energy to move his legs, left right left right. His life became a flit between taking too many of those pills and wondering aimlessly around when he could summon up the energy, which wasn't often. He wished he could make sense of the world he lived in, but he just couldn't. Nothing seemed to add up. He was alone, and nothing could change that. He hated to admit to himself that his life was now taken up by being in his own constant high. So, he decided, no more pointless wondering, even if he did have the energy. He would rather feel nothing with the pills than feel everything he did when he would walk.

Without changing his decision, he keeps to his word because those pills were the only thing that made him okay. He was nothing without them. Nothing with them. Nothing in general. He felt as though he was nothing but a washed-up grain of sand on the beach, unable to move. And maybe that's how he made it all seem okay; he was just this small lost boy, shuffling his way through life, in search of a moment of hope. A moment of hope that never seems to come. All he got was droplets of rain amongst the clouds. The sunshine never seems to want to come into his life. And that's why he didn't think life was worth it anymore. He was 'fine', but the word 'fine' actually meant nothing to him anymore, he was so far from being truly fine. The feeling of being truly fine was now just a distant memory. He told himself he only got up in the morning to escape the nightmares that held the wicked echoes he longed to get rid of, where he could escape to his supply that came from his little red bottle. He kept himself alone because there was nothing really to see. He's basically a skin holding in the delicate bones of his body.

That's all he was, skin and bones. Nothing to keep him warm on the long cold nights that stretched on forever. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd had a decent meal, something to fill the void that wasn't from those pills in his little red bottle. It was as if he'd forgotten how to eat. All he had eaten for the last week was left over pizza he had ordered when he was in one of his highs. But even that was cold, stale and made him gag when he opened the abandoned box. There was nothing in his flat, the fridge was empty apart from a mouldy smelly chunk of cheese that he couldn't bring himself to eat, even though he was so desperate. His mum would be so disappointed to see how his life was turning out. But he didn't care. He didn't want food. He didn't want to see his family. They would only try to help, and he was far from wanting that. What he was longing for was so much more than food. So instead, he popped open his stash and popped as many pills as he could until the hunger subsided, and he was thinking of nothing and everything at the same time.