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The man sat alone crying himself to sleep every day of his precious life. He seemed to think that nothing was right for him so he committed sin after sin and cared nothing for what the others around him thought. He walked alone down the street each day, ate at the same local pub, and tried to drink his sorrows away every so often. He was a drug addict and he never came to his senses once that it would make his life ungodly better if he had just stopped with it. So he trekked on and went day after day doing what he felt was right, in his eyes. No one ever listened to him, for they all thought his mind would break and he would go insane. People feared what would happen if they encountered him alone without anyone to hear any sort of scream. 2
Until one day. He overdosed on a drug that he was using. He drifted out of the world as his soul departed his body. The soul never went above his body, always drifting down. It seemed like eternity until his soul had found its place. His soulless body lay in his dirty old living quarters and no one would ever find him. 3
His soul, now in some deserted place walked along. It seemed to be a version of hell. Gliding ever so swiftly along the path of ash if found its way. Entering into a life filled hall. The hall was filled with screaming faces of all those who he had hurt or murdered. They stared at him with crying eyes and wide mouths. The faces they wore were those of when they were at their worst, right after he had done his harm. His soul cowered at all of the high pitched violence brought about. Hundreds upon hundreds of these faces filled the halls. It took him forever to pass them and enter into a large open area, where he saw a table. The table was littered with all of the drugs that he took and he didn’t even like the looks of them. The all had a vile look to them. The needles all green and covered in dried blood. The pipe he smokes anything out of was crawling with worms and aged grime. He stood over the table and wept. What had he done to his life. Now he’s dead because of all of this and no one would ever car. “Why!” he shouted. 4
A voice answered him. “You did it all to yourself.” The voice was sweet sounding, almost of a child he had once been. And from the shadow in a corner, emerged, a child. It was him, when he was just a boy. He had died once already, when he submitted to all of what he had done. “You did what you thought was right, but it was all so wrong.” But he just cried more. The boy looked at him with a blank look in his eyes. If only he had chosen the right way to go he wouldn’t have become what he was. “You know you still have a chance. All you have to do is what you have been doing for years. Inject yourself with this un-sterile needle, overdose and you shall live your life as you once were.” 5
The man sat there and looked at everything that had come to pass. He was in hell, and he knew it. The one choice he had to make was so clear, to do what he had been doing for years and live, or to choose not to and suffer further pain. Time passed and the boy just sat and stared at him. Never once did he look at the boy after he had walked his way. He picked up the needles that were lying on the table. There had to be thousands of them. He could only carry a few of them. He walked over to the dark corner where the boy appeared from and sat down. He kept looking at what he held in his hand. Hours passed and he finally rose from his place. Walking over to the table he took of his shirt and piled as many as he could fit onto it. He walked to the boy and stared him in the eye. “Please go to the corner and don’t look.” The boy followed his orders. The man went back to the hall. He looked up and saw all of the dead faces. He lay his shirt of needles on the ash covered ground and everything went silent. He knew that each needle had plenty to overdose with. He took the first one and walked to a face on the wall. Someone he had killed on a bright sunny day, just to get the money out of their wallet to buy his drugs. He slid the needle into the temple of the head, which protruded from the wall and injected what was in the syringe. The face slowly faded and another took its place. He had given the life back to the person he took the life of. He would sit there for eternity vanishing every last face from the wall, each of them returning to the point in time where their life was in jeopardy. They lived once again. 6
When he had finished he was left with one last syringe. He thought, to use it on himself. So he went to the room and cleared the table. He called the boy over to watch the final deed. The boy sat on the table and looked at him. He walked close to the boy and inserted the needle into his inner elbow. 7
When he awoke the boy was sitting at the doctor’s office and had just gotten a shot. The paper beneath him crackled and he looked over at his mother and smiled. The boy knew what took place and he would always carry, with him, what he had experienced that day.8
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