The worst thing i ever did in my life

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Well, that's the third and final story from my coursework; now i've just got the poems left. Since we had to write under a five hundred word limit I kind of feel that it could have been better but that's enough from me.
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Ugh, if theirs one day I’ll never forget in my life it’s the day I got overdosed. I’m just lucky no one realized that I was drugged up at the time; otherwise I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be were I am now…

At the time, I just joined the New York City police force and was still getting used to my neck of the city, when I accidentally stumbled on a massive drug deal in an old abandoned warehouse.

Anyway, long story short, I arrested both the dealer and the buyer without sustaining any injury to myself, minus a few scratches, along with obtaining over at least a ton in illegal drugs, all in one night. Not a bad start to my law enforcement carrier, if I do say so myself. Of course, this was all before I got drugged up.

If only I had done a proper search on the two dealers; how the hell was I supposed to know that the second one had a lockpick hidden inside the lining of his jacket? Completely weaponless, with back up about to arrive, the only thing he could do was throw a powdery version of the drug in my face before running off.

Now, here we reach a small snag, I didn’t exactly inhale it out of reflex; I was to intent on trying to catch him… lets just say that I believed in the future and that you can overcome anything for now, I’m to tired to think up a proper excuse right now.

Anyway, unknown to me, the stuff he threw in my face was actually a high-grade drug, so it started to kick in only after five minutes of chasing the second dealer through darkened alleyways, before finally losing him after he jumped over a high fence. Then came the hallucinations.

Thankfully, I realized that I was hallucinating when the bins suddenly grew fangs and started snapping at my heels. That, and the two gladiators that suddenly started fighting upside down in mid-air…

And now we come to the most important part: the strip club. As you’ve probably heard, I went in there only because I saw the dealer run in… That, and the neon sign was really pretty…

Anyway, after getting past the bouncer, who I thought looked like giant sponge, I entered the club, caught sight of the dealer, before stopping dead and starring at the sight of Satan and a few other demons dancing on the center of the stage. In reality, they were strippers, but I still couldn’t help but gawk at them, even after I had caught the dealer after running around the stage after him.

Well, that about wraps up this report. But even today, after 20 long years, I still can’t forget that image. Even in my dreams I can’t seem to escape the sight of the hordes of hell in the middle of performing an elaborate tap dance…
'No, the burned hand teaches best. After that advice about fire goes to the heart' - gandalf, lord of the rings.




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All throughout this story you tell, rather than show. This is the wrong way round: showing, good; too much telling, bad.

(Wikipedia has a pretty good article on 'show, don't tell', so you might wanna look that up.)
I wrote the above just for you.



The idea that a poem was a made thing stayed with me, and I decided then that I wanted to be an artist, not just a diarist. So I put myself through a kind of apprenticeship in writing poetry, and I understood even then that my practice as a poet was deeply related to my reading.
— Edward Hirsch