Against the Sunrise

This is an old story that I wrote. I've posted this before on short stories, but I re-read it and decided to make something of it! I appreciate all help given!

Against the Sunrise


I shivered against the cold of the alley, wrapping my skinny arms tighter around myself. I was always skinny these days, but that didn't matter. "Hurry it up," I hissed as John checked in his pockets for my precious daily dose.

He grinned his infuriating, lazy smile. "Don't worry your pretty little head, I have it right here."

I bit my lower lip, wounding my hands together in anticipation. "Please," I whispered, not taking my eyes off my fixation, hidden in his pockets. "I need it." I could feel the sleep deprivation taking its toll on my body, feel my heart starting to beat faster and faster in my chest. Stupid, your heart can't beat. It's broken. I was close to losing it.

The alley was taking a sad bluish taint around me, as things always seemed to when I was desperate. It was a pretty sort of blue, like the sunrise, but this was not my sunrise right here. One day, I knew it would kill me. But I had to have it. I was compelled to this sweet obsession.

John followed my gaze slowly. "You're in pretty deep, huh?" he asked under his breath. In his green eyes, I saw the joking was gone.

I sighed, tying my wavy hair restlessly with my hands without caring what it looked like. "What's it to you? I'm just another customer. Now hand it over." I felt my finger tips starting to shake. "Please. Now, John."

John shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. "You're not yourself, Janey. I know you, remember?"

I finally snapped. I - needed - my - dose! Why couldn't he see that?! All that kept me from the maddening powder was just a few pieces of worthless fabric! I could almost see it - almost touch it. Almost was such a big word. UGH! "Oh, is that what drugs do to you? They keep you the same?!" I let out a hysteric, high pitched sneer. "Gee, I wonder why I'm fucking different! I'm a freakin' addict! So hell no, I'm not the same Janey you knew. I'm a client just like the next person, John! And if you don't give it to me, right now - and I mean it, right now - I am going to go find myself a different dealer!" Some foam slipped to my lips, and I used my tongue to lick it off.

John took a step back. "Here," he said, tossing me the tiny plastic bag. "Take it easy, Janey."

I caught it in the air, my whole being intent on it. "Bite me," I said behind my back as I found my way to my car. I held the small bag to my eyes and felt shame well up inside me. Junkies weren't meant to live in packs. We can only live solo. My brain was beyond functioning, but my broken heart still felt for some reason. And it wasn't nice to feel. I knew it would quiet down once I'd have my dose, that everything would be okay then. As I spread the white powder, without knowing why, I started crying.
***
I slammed the door when I got home. "Janey, is that you?" Mom asked, words slurred as she tried to stumble her way through the beer bottles that were sprawled all across the floor. She tried to wrap her arms around me, but I slipped away from her. Why did I even come back home? The thought echoed inside me. Now that I was high, the world seemed like a better place. Maybe I still held a wish inside me to see her better, too, to see that miraculously, she was sober. What a wasted dream: She hadn't been sober in over five years. The drinks were killing her just as much as drugs were killing me. Mom fell back into her couch, hiccupping and burping. "I'm... glad you're home, honey," she mumbled as she closed her eyes.

I took a dirty blanket off the floor and put it around her shoulders with a sigh. "Well, at least we're the same, Mom," I whispered softly.

No, argued a voice inside me. We weren't the same! I was in a place higher than she'd ever been. Then she'd ever be. I was free, the world was filled with colors, like it always was when I was high and happy.

But we were both going to die. Yeah, we were the same when it came down to that.

I sat on the floor which reeked of too many alcohol filled nights. And I sniffled. Miserably. Now that I was satisfied, I felt horrible, as per usual. I wanted to stop, to be normal, to see colors without being high, but it was beyond me… I felt tiny in comparison.

I was supposed to be in school; supposed to be a good little no-brainer, do my homework, listen to the teachers. I was going to pass high-school, no matter what I did - I knew that much. They weren't going to flunk me. Said I had some potential, or something. That maybe with a high-school diploma something would come out of me. I don't think the school believed it themselves. Just wanted to do something good. Once again, I was the "charity case", the kid from the broken home, the one who has gone astray, but oh, don't blame her, it's not her fault - well, it bloody is my fault! I did this, no one else did! At least give me credit for destroying my own life - even if I can't do much else.

I grabbed my cell, realizing now that it had been ringing for a while. "Oh,Janey, come over to my place," I heard Samantha say, her voice on the edge of panic. She didn't bother with a greating. "Please. It's an emergancy."

I hadn't talked to her in some time, but I knew she wouldn't call me over nothing. We used to be best friends, and I knew her. Even if she didn't know me anymore. Through the drugs, I felt myself starting to get worried. "Don't worry, I'll be there," I managed before lurching to my feet.

Once in the car, I pushed the gas paddle almost all the way through. Maybe I'd die on my way. It would sound better in the paper. Girl dies in car accident. Rather than, girl dies of over-using. More respectable, in a way. But I lived to walk through Samantha's door. When I got in, everything was quiet. "Hello?" I called. The silence was eerie.

"Janey, we need to talk," Samantha said, popping out from the living-room. Her brown hair was shorter now; I hadn't been there when she'd cut it. Her big eyes widened when she took in my appearance, but she didn't let herself flinch. I appreciated that.

"I-it sounded bad," I stammered, suddenly feeling bare, as if my clothes weren't enough to cover me.

"I'll... You'll understand in a sec." Samantha grabbed my hand and led me to the living-room. It was a bit dark at first, but then I recognized my old friends in the shadows. Tom sat there, with a face so still it could've been chiseled in rock. Mandy's hand flew to her mouth and she shook her red hair twice, as if trying to get thoughts out of her head. And there was also someone new. An adult with a pair of round glasses and a gap between his teeth. His brown hair was definitely thinning.

Samantha squeezed my hand. "Janey, this is Dr. Rubinson."

I gaped at her, uncomprehending. I wasn't that high anymore.

Samantha sucked in a big breath, but before she could talk, Tom cut in. "Yeah, we're having an intervention."

An intervention. They still... they still cared about me? After all of this? My eyes filled with tears as I took a good look at their faces. The balding Dr. Rubinson nodded his head, as if he was cueing them to start.

Mandy cleared her throat bravely, but her voice still squeaked. I'd already forgotten she does that when she's nervous. "I miss you," she said, her eyes meeting mine. "I'm scared you'll die if you keep this up. You're so smart, Janey - I know you can do better!" A tear escaped from the corner of my eye. I felt my heart beat once. Ba-dump.

Tom's lips curved at the edges as he looked me up and down. "Going for the grunge look, I see. Well, it's okay, you're pretty no matter what." He let out a sigh, brow creasing. "You know what? Scratch that. It's not okay. I care about you, and I wish I could fix you, but I can't do that - only you can. You're becoming like your Mother." I cringed, ducking my head low, before making myself look him in the eye. I wanted to be brave. His kind eyes smiled at me sadly. "And we both know where that'll lead you." Another tear broke free. Ba-dump, ba-dump.

Samantha gave a little cough next to me, threading her fingers through mine, no longer holding my wrist. "Remember in third grade? We called ourselves BFF's," she said in a small voice. "I meant that. It means forever. No matter what." She applied a bit more comforting pressure to my hand."Let's make it last forever, okay?"

My heart was beating again. Without the drugs. On its own. "I don't have the money... for rehab, I mean," I blubbered, rubbing my free hand at my face, where tears were streaming.

"It's from us," Tom said, gesturing with his head at Dr. Rubinson.

"Yeah," Mandy chirped in. "As a graduation present."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "No one's going to make you do something you don't want," interjected Dr. Rubinson for the first time.

I nodded meekly. My life was in ruins, but only I could bring it back. My sun could rise. "I'll finish high-school," I said thickly. "I want to do better." Tom half rose from the sofa, but by that time Mandy already darted her way into my arms. Samantha wrapped her arms around us as well. Half sighing, Tom surrounded all three of us. "I'll go," I whispered in the confidence of our small circle. "I promise I won't waste your present. Thank you, guys!"

My graduation present to myself is to get help, I decided deep inside. I need it.

Ba-dump.

I’m not really sure where to start. There were a few odd little errors I’ll cover first, and then on to my actual review.

First off I’m not sure if this really belongs in the general-fiction novel section, maybe in the short story section unless you want to post more chapters. This is great as a standalone piece though.

Second, “let out a hysteric, high pitched sneer.” I’m pretty sure that “sneer” is a word for a type smile (or a lip movement), not a sound.

Third: “Maybe I still held a wish inside me to see her better, too, to see that miraculously, she was sober.” This is probably the worst sentence in the whole story. There are simply too many commas and it’s confusing. Can you break it into two sentences instead? Or use a semi-colon somewhere?

Those are my little errors that I saw, so now let’s talk content:

1) I really liked this. I’m about as far removed from this situation as is humanly possible. I have a good stable family, and like zip knowledge of drugs. Even though the high school I went to was right in the middle of three different gang territories, I was white in a majority black (I’m talking 60-80%) and Hispanic area, so I was basically left alone. That being said I did find certain parts that spoke to me. The one that I liked especially is:
“Once again, I was the "charity case", the kid from the broken home, the one who has gone astray, but oh, don't blame her, it's not her fault - well, it bloody is my fault! I did this, no one else did! At least give me credit for destroying my own life - even if I can't do much else.”
I really love this part because I understand. At my age I’m at that point where even if I mess up I’m starting to want the blame or the praise. It’s not someone else’s fault that I made all As, so why should it be someone else’s fault that I made a C?

2) There’s something very realistic about your approach to this. The only think I know about drugs is from a poetic novel called “Crank” by Ellen Hopkins. The descriptions of what it was like to be on drugs were so realistic that it made me wonder if she wasn’t telling her own story. When I found out she was writing a book based on her daughter’s experience with drugs I understood how she understood. In your book you describe very graphically what it feels like to need the thing that you hate, to wish you could do better, but feel so trapped you know you can’t. The description of Janey’s addiction is rather disturbing, but it seems... right somehow. It makes me wonder if you haven’t had some experience with the stuff in the past (either in person or through someone you knew).

3) The pacing is glorious. I keep reading things that are too fast of pacing. This was not too fast, not too slow, but just right, and I appreciate that.

4) The descriptions are brought in very well. It’s hard to describe a narrator, but it’s necessary so you can know who’s speaking. One of my favourite authors, Tamora Peirce, uses a journal format for one of her novels. Her character describes herself as exercise for noting everything about the world around her. This works because of how the story’s set up, but it wouldn’t work for a lot of first person narratives. Yours works because the character describes how she looks in comparison to how she wants looked so that the reader gets a sense of both.

5) Characters pop out even if they only get a few lines. Every character in the story has a definite personality. No character is wasted. I want to know more about John and Tom, Samanth and Mandy... and a lot more about Janey and her mother. I have a bent for male characters in that once I find one that intrigues me I want to write as that character. You got my attention with both Tom and especially John. This isn’t very long, but there’s a strong verisimilitude about all of it, and the characters really enhance this.

I kind of hope this is a part of a novel. I’m not a big fan of drug novels, but this was really good. Your style is great, and you have a great grasp of storytelling and how to hook and keep a reader. I hope you write more of this.