A Way Out?

A graphic story about how wildly and quickly a single trial can proceed to a dead end

The smell of tobacco on his breath, the red shot eyes and the god-like feeling after each bout. The sorrows he forgot and the fears that vanished. It was a way out.

Then it became more.
The needle marks like branded scars he proudly put on display. The euphoria, the bliss. He was on top of the world and that was all that mattered.
The nausea and itching were but mere hurdles to him for ecstasy was the prize. Though the skin flushed and the mouth dried, he rode on.

With no regrets and like a hyena cub he kept to his path. With the two-faced friends cheering every step of way, or did they?
The jeers in hidden corners he did not see; for to him, he was god to them.

Pushing to new limits each day with stronger doses, better cocktails. Much more fun it had seemed like, till he snapped.
Then they came for him, the depression and guilt.
Pushing loved ones away, hiding from the shame, the disgust; the want to leave his own skin.
The arguments with Pa, stealing just to feed desires. Desires that were now stronger than will.
And the lies to cover those up, each begetting another.

Then he grew hostile; snarling at everyone, oppressing others to survive the want.
The night rests he could have no more, for insomnia was now the new gift.
With no one to talk to and no one to help, he fell deeper. Falling back to pill haven for solace.

Then creeping in like slow poison it found a place in his mind. The answer, the perfect way out to eternal solace. Trying all he could to shut the voices out, but much louder they came back. He gave up.

And so it was, a destiny lost to a noose.
Another the next day to a self pulled trigger.
Daily they go, alone and scared. Just seeking a way out.