I've been a thug for almost two years now, making money however I can.
I'm not a junkie.
However, I've finally admitted to myself I might have a habit.
I'm walking down the muddy roads between the tents, shacks and ancient ruins that make up the camp where I live and work.
I'm young enough that I tell myself I like people being afraid of me. That it means Im a man to be respected.
I try to ignore the part of me that despairs at it.
People look down when they see me, find reasons to be on the other side of the road. I'm massive enough that I stand out, and I've heard people whisper that I work for bad people who do bad things.
Which is accurate enough I suppose.
Fenix, a local crime figure of note, has taken over most of the drug territory in this camp. To say he works for the Angels is akin to saying that a government flunky in an office building works for the Prime Minister of the Republic.
But what the Angels push goes through him. And through me.
And..occasionally, through my veins. But my mind runs away from that irony.
I've taken to wearing a used Federation soldier's jacket. It was too large for the pawn vendor to sell, so it sat in the back of the shop as an afterthought.
It's tight in the shoulders, and Ive split one of the seams on the back, but it has pockets where I can put my hands when its cold.
I tell myself thats why they shake.
Because Im cold. Its winter now.
Not because Im a junkie who needs a fix.
I'm talking the long way home. I'm swinging by the tent of a woman I know, Crey'sha. She is a...friend to me I suppose. She can cook well. Her children are friendly, if wary in the way that most refugee children are.
I tell myself I visit them because Im there for Crey'sha's cooking. Not that she always has good stuff for a fix.
That would mean I was a junkie.
Her habit has grown over the years. But Fenix has found a way for her to pay it back. Her habit has only just begun to fray her beauty at the edges, that slight tiredness to her eyes. She is still a remarkable woman.
Fenix was in a particularly good mood when I saw him earlier, telling me with a malignant grin that he enjoyed swinging by Crey'sha's place tonight.
I merely nodded to that, and kept the sneer from my face as best I could.
After all, he's the best source in the camp. I cant make him angry.
Not that Im a junkie.
So Im bringing food to Crey'sha's place, because I know the children will end to eat soon, and she will be high after seeing Fenix. She always needs it after he visits. I know from experience it can help you erase unpleasant memories. And letting Fenix touch her that way must be unpleasant.
So I tell myself Im bringing food to the little ones, for Nerise and Cavlen. They're 11 and 8, with only their mother to take care of them. I barely know them. Its impossibly sad that Im the closest thing to a father they have in their life.
So Im swinging by her place to drop off food.
Not that Im swinging by her place because she must have a lot of vials left.
I slowly push open the door to Crey'sha shack. Im shocked to find her on the couch, her eyes half lidded, the vials in front of her. I quickly look over to her bedroom door.
Crey'sha always made her bed. Not when she has the chance to get high of course, but every morning.
I think it was a small way for her to try to fight back overwhelming entropy, when the rest of her world was being destroyed by it.
But...her bed was made. But...Fenix said he was just over. What...
Then I see Nerise's small figure walk out from the childrens bedroom.
She looks at me with dark, deep, impossibly hurt eyes. There is a slight bruise on her cheek. Her hair is matted. Her pajamas wrinkled in odd ways.
My mouth suddenly tastes of ash and bile.
Any slave child who grew up in the mines of my home knew that look. At once both confused and resigned, wondering and afraid, guilt and bewilderment. The look of a child beyond fear, because they feel there is nothing left to lose.
....What have I become?
A junkie.
A slave again. To the vial. To the urges.
To Fenix.
Worse, I've become his overseer. To slaves like Crey'sha.
To slaves like Nerise.
After everything that happened to escape from the Amarr, this is how I spend my freedom.
After I.....
After Father Yervanian died.
I stared into Nerise's eyes. I remember the sounds of a girl crying in a mine shaft. I remember the feel of the rock in my hand. I was a boy of 12 winters.
But I was bigger and older than the rest.
Someone had to help.
I remember the whipping I received in punishment. The feel of a neural-pain inducement whip striking me again and again. Passing out again and again, them waiting for me to regain consciousness before beginning again.
One hundred lashes for raising my hand against an overseer, even if it was stopping him from hurting a small girl anymore.
If it wasn't for Father Yervanian, no doubt I would have been whipped to death in front of the mining shift as an example.
I just remember being as certain as only a small boy can that I was doing the right thing, that God wanted me to protect her however I could.
I knew with faith and certainty I was doing God's work then.
Who's work was I doing now?
I finally speak softly. "He wont ever hurt you again"
Her small face nods slowly, her eyes staring up, way up into mine.
It both breaks my heart and fills it with joy that she believes me. Believes in me.
I turn to the door, filled with holy purpose and unGodly rage.
I take my hands out of my pockets to open the door and walk out into the street. It's begun to rain.
I dont notice that my hands have stopped shaking.
Im not a junkie.
Not this night.
But...her bed was made. But...Fenix said he was just over. What...
Then I see Nerise's small figure walk out from the childrens bedroom.
She looks at me with dark, deep, impossibly hurt eyes. There is a slight bruise on her cheek. Her hair is matted. Her pajamas wrinkled in odd ways.
My mouth suddenly tastes of ash and bile.
Any slave child who grew up in the mines of my home knew that look. At once both confused and resigned, wondering and afraid, guilt and bewilderment. The look of a child beyond fear, because they feel there is nothing left to lose.
....What have I become?
A junkie.
A slave again. To the vial. To the urges.
To Fenix.
Worse, I've become his overseer. To slaves like Crey'sha.
To slaves like Nerise.
After everything that happened to escape from the Amarr, this is how I spend my freedom.
After I.....
After Father Yervanian died.
I stared into Nerise's eyes. I remember the sounds of a girl crying in a mine shaft. I remember the feel of the rock in my hand. I was a boy of 12 winters.
But I was bigger and older than the rest.
Someone had to help.
I remember the whipping I received in punishment. The feel of a neural-pain inducement whip striking me again and again. Passing out again and again, them waiting for me to regain consciousness before beginning again.
One hundred lashes for raising my hand against an overseer, even if it was stopping him from hurting a small girl anymore.
If it wasn't for Father Yervanian, no doubt I would have been whipped to death in front of the mining shift as an example.
I just remember being as certain as only a small boy can that I was doing the right thing, that God wanted me to protect her however I could.
I knew with faith and certainty I was doing God's work then.
Who's work was I doing now?
I finally speak softly. "He wont ever hurt you again"
Her small face nods slowly, her eyes staring up, way up into mine.
It both breaks my heart and fills it with joy that she believes me. Believes in me.
I turn to the door, filled with holy purpose and unGodly rage.
I take my hands out of my pockets to open the door and walk out into the street. It's begun to rain.
I dont notice that my hands have stopped shaking.
Im not a junkie.
Not this night.
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