Of all the questionable concoctions Gideon had introduced to his body, crystal meth was something he had rebuffed until now. He had deemed it too lethal for his own habits, preferring to partake in the milder medicines, those that were less habit forming. But its clamoring for his attention finally became too great to resist, and he was now anxious to feel the black magic of the powdered glass. Thoughts and suggestions of a deceased grandmother would have to wait until a cleaner, more appropriate time.
He shook the fog from his eyes to see that his small, round portion was prepared and quietly waiting for him. He mumbled thanks to whomever had prepared it. He was a little hazy from the celebrations of the long night, but wanted to continue in the good times that were waiting. As he swallowed his nervousness and smiled, Gideon bent low over a crummy coffee table and found himself staring into the little mirror adorned by the powdery substance. He looked deep into his own green eyes for a few fleeting seconds. Dismissing the accompanying feeling of disappointment in self, he pushed his hair from his eyes and inhaled with righteous power. This was his night of unbridled fervor.
As soft white fury rushed through his nasal cavity and in to his lungs, Gideon felt a sharp tickle in his nostrils. He had to fight to keep from choking. A shrieking, frigid feeling began to creep over him as he slowly stood from the couch of broken dreams. He looked around the crowded room of rebel naysayers. His throat felt hoarse from the wear and tear of a dirty night, but he couldn’t have cared less. His eyes widened with the fever of a madman and Gideon let out a primal scream, startling all those around him. He was here to celebrate until his heart’s content; the rest of the house’s crowded company would have to adjust to his reckless thirst accordingly.
His head started to swim slightly and Gideon felt pure chaotic energy flood every part of his body. His heart began to beat against his rib cage in a barbaric attempt to free itself. This only energized Gideon the more. He had never felt so alive. He no longer wanted to sit around wasting such a raw and holy night. It was time to return to those unconquered streets.
“Get up, we’re leaving” Gideon growled to those around him, and no one argued with the dirty blond angel.
It was all a beautiful blue blur as they jumped over bodies strewn about the floor and raced for the front of the decrepit house. The fever that filled his brain warmed him to his bones, all of the evening’s substances providing a contradicting combination of soft comfort and exhilarating strength.
Crashing through the front door and spilling in to the uncut yard with loud laughter, someone pushed a set of keys in to Gideon’s palm and mentioned that he was the responsible one of the crew. He laughed knowingly and opened the doors to a car he knew but didn’t recognize in his celebratory haze. The engine was soon roaring splendidly and Gideon looked in to the rearview mirror to see his own dull green eyes staring back at him, begging him to just walk away.
“Shut up,” he said to no one in particular, slapping the hungry, hurting eyes from his view.
Gideon gripped the wheel tightly in his heated hands, punched the heavy accelerator, and spun the car onto the blacktopped street, fishtailing as they flew.
With the radio putting forth an unrelenting beat in volumes that shook the blackened night, Gideon sped the car full of helpless souls toward every heartbreaking consequence he had never imagined.
Cory Copeland is a writer living in Little Rock, AR. Read more of his work on his blog and follow him on Twitter. You can order his debut novel, These Were the Nights or help fund his newest book, We are not Hoodlums: a devotional.