I’m Glad You’re Here
Friday, December 17th, 1993–4AM
The last hit had been too much. He had gone too far. The room had stopped spinning, and was now just fading in and out from existence. A lump caught in his throat, and he began to cough into a clammy, clenched fist. When he pulled his hand away from his face, it was stained a deep red.
Panic began to set in, and he reached for his phone on the small stand next to him and immediately realized that he wasn’t on the couch, but on the floor. He wasn’t quite sure how long he had been on the floor, or when he had pulled three heavy blankets over him. Foul-smelling sweat oozed from every pore on his body, yet he was still chilled to the bone.
For the past few years, breathing had become difficult, but that was nothing compared to the heavy labor his lungs were pulling now. Every breath was more of a gasp, a desperate struggle for oxygen. His heart was behaving erratically, unable to maintain a steady beat. He dragged his three-hundred and eighty pound body across the rough carpet so that he was positioned just next to the couch. He reached up for…
All of a sudden, he couldn’t remember. He could feel the thought there, underneath the thick fog that had overtaken his brain. The room kept flickering and fading in and out around him…
