Solace

Malcolm sat in the corner of his dark, bare room and let the shadows devour every particle of his being. Wearily he looked around the room, devoid of any furniture or personal belongings, it looked more like a prison cell than anything. The room was cold, he hadn’t paid the heating bill this month, but the cold didn’t bother him, in fact it felt right, the world was cold, why should his room be any different.1

He took the glass of water before him and examined one of the three white pills in his palm, marvelling at their clinical simplicity, he picked one of them up and swallowed it prudently. He examined the remaining pill retrospectively, he almost found if comical how such a small and fragile thing could ruin his life so thoroughly, but, he supposed, his life hat been small and fragile back then too but it had been perfect also, too perfect. He had felt himself falling into mediocrity, ‘sinking into the grey’ is how he recalled thinking of it, and it had terrified him. His father, before he had died, had told him that there was nothing worse than being average, he said that when a person came close to death, it was not the idea of facing their own mortality that scared them, it was the thought of being forgotten. His father had gone to his grave believing that there was no sadder sight in life that that of a blank tombstone. Ultimately his fathers words would lead Malcolm down a path of self-destruction, but he hadn’t known it then. Foresight is, as they say, the cruellest gift.2

The next few hours were a blur for him, a haze of nausea and hallucinations. It was always possible to get a bad batch of drugs but it seemed to Malcolm that it was more than that. The nausea was a deep, penetrating pain, unremitting and ubiquitous. It was positively unnerving to him but the idea came to Malcolm that he had been poisoned.3

He was struck by the memory of last Tuesday when he had bought those pills from his dealer, Adam. Adams behaviour that day had been peculiar and erratic. When talking his usually prevalent wry smile had slipped, only for a moment but a moment was enough for Malcolm to catch a brief expression of what seemed to be hatred. How he could have forgotten that such hatred etched on a mans face puzzled him. Striking though this revelation was, it was not confirmed enough to act upon. However he was sure if he talked to Adam again he would be certain whether or not the hatred was real or illusion. He was confident that if Adam was put under enough pressure he would make another slip.4

Malcolm got slowly to his feet, finding his balance. He grabbed his tattered coat from the floor and slipping it on he exited his squalid apartment. He didn’t bother to lock the door on his way out, there was nothing to steal anyway. He made his way to the nearest payphone and searching hopefully through his pockets he found a coin and put it into the nearby payphone. He dialled the number he had so hastily scrawled onto a scrap of paper. Adams assured voice answered, Malcolm explained that he needed some pills and Adam gave him an address to meet him at.5

It seemed to take a century for him to walk to the street that Adam had suggested to him on the phone. He hated this, being in public, with people staring at him as though he were some kind of fairground attraction. He pilled his hood up to hide the characteristic markings of a drug addicts face; the sullen brows, the tight face and the tired red eyes that seemed to stare at nothing.6

Malcolm suddenly realised he had arrived at his destination. He stood at the entrance to an alleyway and waited patiently for Adam. While he waited he observed the people passing by and quite suddenly he was struck dumb by a profound revelation, maybe he did have a purpose in this life, maybe these people did need him. As good could not exist without evil, these people could not function without him. They needed to hate him and people like him, as a sort of scapegoat for the human race to unite against. Perhaps he was their saviour, but, no, he realised, he was no ones saviour, nor was he their enemy, there was no mutual hat. How could he hate them? He had been one of them once and he too had judged those junkies and homeless people. He did not believe in karma but he did feel there was some majestic irony in the way his life had turned out.7

After five minutes of waiting in the cold, demoralising city he noticed Adam across the street watching him with an undecipherable expression, after realising he had been seen by Malcolm Adam casually waved his hand and crossed the street and approached Malcolm cautiously. Malcolm made small talk for as long as was necessary and then started probing Adam about the pills, being careful not to accuse him of anything, even so he could feel Adam becoming tense. When he mentioned the possibility of the pills being bad, Adam reacted bizarrely. He stopped mid-sentence , he cocked his head to one side with puzzlement and stared at Malcolm without blinking. The stare frightened Malcolm, it seemed so sinister, like a eagle considering his prey, those somniferous almond eyes stared right through Malcolm, penetrating his soul.8

The unbearable stare lasted for several minutes, when quite suddenly Adam barked a cruel laugh and pushed Malcolm onto the ground. He feel quite heavily on his head. Adam stood over him, looking down on him with the look of sadness and confusion a troubled child might give a frog it has just squeezed to death. The nausea returned in force and Malcolm passed out. He awoke to the sound of a door slamming, he opened his eyes groggily to discover he was in a small white room laying on a bed, there were instruments all around the room, placed carefully, to preserve their condition. The realisation of where he was shook him to the core.9

An hour later the doctor had arrived and explained everything to Malcolm. How he had been found and taken there, what had happened but most importantly he had explained about Adam. There had never been an Adam only a desire for companionship and a lot of psychedelic drugs, so the doctor said. The mind can do many wonderful things, when in conflict it can summon an adrenaline rush to help you face or flee the danger and when feeling alone and friendless it can summon up a companion for you. So Malcolm returned to his rundown apartment and again he sat in the corner of his dark, bare room and again he swallowed those small white pills but this time he was not alone. He doubted he ever would be again.10