Waking Nightmare

Everything hurts.

Waking up is as bad as it usually is. Aches and pains along with a soured stomach are things you expect after chasing the dragon, though you usually don't have a screaming headache like the one currently pounding beneath your skull. The floor beneath you is cold and dirty, concrete that hasn't been cleaned in years. This isn't the first time you've woken up in some abandoned building you can't remember going to, but as your eyes slowly come into focus you aren't so sure if this really is the norm or not.

The light in the room comes from candles placed around the place, sitting on pieces of abandoned furniture, crates, and tables. The walls are decrepit, covered in graffiti and stained filth. It wasn't really that unusual to wake up in a place like this. Junkies love abandoned buildings and it is kind of nice to ride out a high in a nice candlelit room instead of a pitch black one. Whoever set out the candles didn't think to toss down a mattress though, a shame really.

You don't quite feel like getting up just yet, but the sooner you do the sooner you can make some cash to score another dose.

Standing up, you flap your arms a bit in an attempt to rid yourself of the numb, tingling sensation that seems ever present in them now. You really should start injecting elsewhere, but what does it really matter at this point? The crooks of your elbows look like shit and that won't change. Sure it hurts like a bitch to stick a needle there now, but the reward after is worth it.

Looking around at the flickering candles, you notice that there are pictures hanging from the ceiling on strings or placed around the candles. Shuffling toward one half rotten table, you pick up one of the photographs. It isn't easy to see in the dim lighting, but as you hold it up in one hand and a candle in the other you recognize it. It's been years since you've seen this picture. A family portrait from when you were just a kid. One corner of it is torn, effectively removing one person from the picture.

Swearing under your breath, you pick up other pictures and frown as you see that all of them are of you or people you know. Childhood photos of yourself and your parents, pictures of an old boyfriend, pictures of friends you haven't heard from in a decade or more.

As you continue sorting through all of the photographs, you come across a tape recorder with a small cassette already loaded inside of it.