В колонках играет - Metallica - FuelНастроение сейчас - я хороший ( в плане хороший а не пьяный )мы писали,писали и оно родилось =)
Ch. 1,2,3 - Gizmo; 4 Aisha; 5,6,7 Plush Freak; эдитинг - Plush_Freak
Crackman
Chapter 1
Damien awoke of painfully loud thudding resounding throughout his apartment. For a brief, unpleasant moment, he was unclear on whether the noise was coming from inside his head or outside it. He realized that the source of the pounding was, in fact, his land lord banging furiously on the door, and wearily hoped he was hallucinating. He heard a woman’s voice, high pitched and borderline hysterical, and recognized it as Lesley Tyler’s, attempting to calm her furious husband. Although Damien found himself mere yards away from his front door, sprawled unceremoniously on the floor like an inanimate doll , standing up to open the door and confront his landlord seemed like a rather impossible task. It was only after five difficult, muscle-searing minutes that Damien managed to shuffle his way to the door and shakily twist the rusty doorknob until it clicked soundly in place.
“Yes Mr. Tyler?” he said hoarsely, blinking stupidly at the fluorescent hallway lights.
He slowly turned to look at Lesley, who stared at him briefly with large, mournful brown eyes, then averted her gaze to the dirty carpeted floor. No matter how many times Mrs. Tyler encountered Damien in the elevator or at the main desk; she was always struck by his appearance. Her doleful looks as she regarded his worn clothing, emaciated frame, and limp, greasy hair never failed to make Damien acutely uncomfortable in her presence. Whereas his wife extended sympathy to Damien, Larry Tyler felt no such pity in the face of Damien’s sickly eyes and skeletal frame. Currently, Larry Tyler, a broad shouldered bear of a man with a ruddy face and icy blue eyes, looked every bit as intimidating as his wife appeared frail and comforting.
“Where the hell is my rent?!” Larry demanded, clenching and unclenching the first which was not firmly grasped by Lesley. “It’s been three goddamn months, you say you need time, I give you time. More time? I give you more time. But you never pay, do you Crepsley?” Here, Larry paused, smiling unpleasantly. “Anything you earn or steal or whatever the hell you do for money ends up going in your arms! I know the drill now, ol’ Larry finally caught on! I want the rent in my hand, in my pocket, right NOW.”
Damien sighed heavily. He had been through this routine several times in the past four months, but this time there was a distinct threatening note in Larry’s usual tirade. The man would put up with no more excuses. Damien could think of no more excuses. He cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot. Lesley did not look at him, and Larry’s smirk had disappeared entirely.
“Just two hours.” Damien said weakly. “Please Mr. Tyler, two more hours and you’ll get your money. I swear it, no more games.”
Larry’s fist stopped clenching, his shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes. After a long silence, he opened them again.
“You’re damn right no more games.” He said finally. “Tonight. I’ll give you till eleven o’clock. No money by then, I call the cops.” His stance hardened. He stared openly into Damien’s red-rimmed eyes with his penetratingly alert ones. “I’m not screwing around, kid.”
Larry turned away, towards the elevator, Lesley trailing behind him. She did not say goodbye. Damien was left standing dumbly in the open doorway, unmoving. He took a wobbly step back into his apartment and carefully shut the door.
“I have no money,” he said out loud.
This seemed to make the entire situation entirely more realistic. Damien had not a cent to his name, and what little money he used to earn from his job at a Laundromat was spent, wasted, on speed and most recently, cocaine. The drug habit guzzled money at an alarming rate, and he found that friends, family, everyone – seemed to simply vanish from his life, unwillingly yet forcefully excluding his poisonous self from their clean, pure, functioning lives. The more he found himself uninvited to family gatherings, rejected from social outings, and meticulously shunned in the street, the more he came to bitterly regard narcotics as his only, loyal companion. He had been a heavy speed addict for the past five years, and cocaine was progressively dethroning speed as his most important friend. He had overdosed three times in his career as a junkie, and had vowed emphatically to quit after each one. His most recent overdose, resulting in yet another trip to the hospital, was the final snip to the fraying threat connecting him and his few remaining friends and girlfriend. They had brought him, still wrapped in the teal colored hospital blanket, to his doorstep, and left. Damien, shivering and disoriented, did not acknowledge that this was the last time he would ever see his girlfriend and two best friends again. He slowly made his way to the kitchen, where a battered leather wallet lay limply on the grimy countertop. It was empty, barren, exempting one faded photograph of his girlfriend, smiling widely at the camera whilst sitting on an impossibly green stretch of lawn, the sun reflecting golden highlights in her hair.
‘It’s time to get some money, get a fucking job, get a job just for today, get some money,’ Damien thought disjointedly.
He made his way into the bathroom, staring hopelessly at his reflection in the stained mirror above the sink. He reached for a plastic comb lying in reach next to the tap, and then slowly let his hand drop by his side. He left the bathroom, left the apartment, and began walking the five blocks to the bank. He would sit there all day, and pray that one rich, kindly person would give him a ten dollar bill, or even a five dollar bill, and he’d have some money to give to Mr. Tyler. As he walked past a dark alleyway, the sun glaring in his eyes, the unexpected sight of a fist protruding from a wrinkled leather sleeve was conjured like magic in front of his face. He felt his lips smash against his teeth as the fist made contact, and then felt two strong hands drag him by the arms into the shadowy alley. Another iron fist hit him in the stomach, and he fell to the filthy floor. Propping himself up on his elbows, he spat blood on the floor, breathing heavily, struggling not to retch.
“Ah, Damien. So good of you to drop in.”
The same powerful hands that had pulled him into the increasingly nightmarish alley and beaten him to the floor pulled him up, steadying him. He found himself facing his drug dealer, immaculately dressed in a slate grey suit, looking ridiculously out of place in the fetid alleyway.
“Let him go.”
The thug behind him released him, and Damien wavered tipsily. The man Damien knew only as Gomez and a source for his habit smiled down at him from his impressive height.
“Creepy Crepsley.” He said silkily, regarding Damien with an unreadable expression. “I haven’t seen you for a while.”
Damien, wisely, kept silent. He heard Gomez’s bodyguard shift behind him.
“That is quite understandable. You do owe me about $6,000. None of which I assume you have. Am I correct in this assumption?”
Damien shoved his cold, clammy hands into his pockets. Various excuses, defenses, and pleas dangled invitingly in front of him, yet none of them would justify his late payment to the man standing in front of him. Gomez was simply a cat, waiting patiently for the mouse to tire before swiftly going in for the kill.
“I thought we had an agreement. I thought you were good, at first. Deliver a little for me, get a little for you. Good deal, but it requires trust, Damien. Trust.” He shook his head, his face the epitome of harmless disappointment.
Damien was not fooled. He felt his heart flutter wildly in his chest as what could only be the muzzle of a gun pressed against his neck.
Gomez’s face was a mask of disdain He watched Damien coldly. “I only regret that I will have to waste even more money on you.”
“What?” Damien said unsteadily. Hope pierced the thick black cloud of certain death hanging over him. Would Gomez simply let him work off his debt?
“This gun happens to require some especially expensive bullets.”
The heavy hand of Gomez’s bodyguard clamped down on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Damien closed his eyes and steeled himself for the shot. He heard cars pass by, chatter on the streets, and the loud whine of a police siren. He took in all these things yet did not acknowledge them. Then, like a flash, the hand was gone. He waited an eternity, then opened his eyes. Gomez was not in front of him. He realized the source of his salvation and was wracked with a sudden, brutal shudders. When it finally stopped, he was drained. The police siren he had heard on the street, of course. Gomez was not stupid enough to let the careless murder of a worthless junkie be the offense that put him behind bars. He stood up, slowly, shakily. Spitting on the ground, he felt mild relief that he was no longer bleeding. He wiped his mouth and winced, his lower lip was swollen and split, and his front teeth felt like glass. Damien took several steps backwards and leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. When he opened his eyes, thoughts of suicide floated in his mind, the end of a story not worth finishing. He smiled for the first time that day. As he ran his hands over his hair, preparing to spit again to rid himself of the unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth, he caught sight of something small and white among the brackish puddles and dark waste. It lay next to the faint imprint of a shoe, where Gomez had been standing. Damien bent down to examine it. A white baggy, filled with powder. Coke? Speed? Heroin? He couldn’t tell. He picked it up, feeling its weight. Whatever it was, there was a lot of it. A dangerous amount of it, in fact.
‘Might as well go out this way.’ He thought, shrugging as he pocketed the bag.
Chapter 2
On his way back to the apartment, he stopped in front of a Wal-Mart and received four dollars in change from various people entering and leaving the store. His next stop was a drug store, where he picked up a three dollar packet of syringes. He muttered something about diabetes to the clerk, but doubted he was fooling anyone. When he was back in his apartment, he studied the powder for a few more minutes, and was still as undecided about what it was as he had been when he found it. He measured out half the baggie. Whether it was cocaine, speed, or heroin, a dosage that large would be bound to do the trick. There would be no friends carting him off to the hospital this time, no chance of being foiled. He carefully prepared the powder, using a large blackened spoon and his faithful Bic lighter. When it was ready, he took a cotton pad from a half empty packet beside him, tore open the package of syringes, and filled the syringe to its full capacity. He expelled any air trapped inside the syringe, and flicked it with a practiced hand. He had no words for a suicide note. He realized, cynically, that junkies never left a note. There was no point. Everyone knew that the heavy addicts always reached the end of the tether within a few years, and he had had his few years. Rubbing his arm, which was vaguely bruised, he grinned, plunged the needle into his flesh, and forcefully pressed down on the plunger. The room filled with black fog then went dark. Then Damien started to see light. “NOOOO! I don’t want to die!”.“Shut up !You useless creation. Spent you life, this holy gift, on nothing! But I’ll teach you, yeah, I’ll do it.” Now Damien could better see the guy judging him. Tall, strong, serious. Looking like epical hero. “Now you are the cause and the king of your sin. Live with it. Help people. Or not”
Chapter 3
Damien opened his eyes, feeling refreshed. This peaceful sensation lasted for a few seconds before he realized that he was still in his dirty apartment, a syringe protruding from his arm, and the packet of cotton pads, rusty spoon, and half packet of syringes were exactly where he had left them last night, when he was supposed to have overdosed on a fatally high dose of whatever it was Gomez had dropped.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Damien said, and began to laugh.
When he was finished, he stared in wonder at the needle dangling from his arm. He shook it, and it clattered to the floor.
‘It must have been some seriously diluted stuff he was carrying,’ Damien thought, astounded. ‘But Gomez never carries the bad shit on him; he gives that to his lackeys to sell. What’s on him is good stuff, always the best,’ he thought, dismissing his earlier thought. ‘Either way, it’s a miracle I didn’t die.’
But the whole situation was simply impossible. A shiny gem of coincidence, fascinating him with exquisite beauty when it was nothing more than a common rhinestone. This sort of thing happened all the time. Nonetheless, he was compelled to know what the substance he had used was. But it feels great, but sleepy.
Then he passed out …
Lesley Tyler entered his apartment with two cops. He was really angry, until the time he saw Damien. Miserable. He didn’t look disgusting or abominably. Just miserable. This is pretty much he always was about “God! He is just a boy, a boy who lost in this crazy world.”
-“Do You want to bring a suit against him, sir?”
-“No. Just take him away”
-“Thank for your help sir”
-“Oh, bye the way officer, not “him”. Damien Crepsley is his name. Poor Damien, stupid boy”
-“Thank you sir, we will do everything else”.
Chapter 4
“Light! Strong enough to be painful”, Damien thought. So clean, so comfortable, he already forgot about the existence of such words.
-”Finally, you woke up stupid junkie” this words returned him to the earth.
-“But Miss…”
-“Don’t Miss me you, disease of the society!’ she said sharply.”In my opinion it is useless to spend so much money on you all. Just get rid of you all. One way or another.” Said she leaving.
-“Maybe she is right” thought he.”May be it is useless to help us.”
-“Stop this, Damien!” He told himself. “You are still alive”. The bird passed the window next moment.”Huh”.
Few minutes later he heard people laughing in the hall. So stupid and careless laughing.”Wish I have a small joint right now.”
Then someone opened the door.Really wasted. “Huh, wonder what he is taking?”
Laying in the bed he could see wired things. People acting like they were retarded. Or high…
-“Hi, Sweetheart. I’m back to cure you” the nurse smiled.
“Hell! She looks crazy, she is here to kill me! thought Damien “I don’t want to die”
She turned off the light.
Chapter 5
“Huh, that was the last thing I expected from that nurse” Damien said to himself out loud.
“Something has gone completely wrong with this world” Damien thought. For the whole day he met too many “high” people. Even those who are not usually affected by psychedelic substances. Later something eventually started to borrow him
. Flashbacks of the talk with the unknown person were itching his brain from the inside. Damien started to memorize parts of his overdosing dream.”If it is true, lets try it”.
Damien walked across the dirty streets. Dark, lonely and desolate. Everything stays the same even if you become a superhero. Here is Gomes and his guys.”Well well, well, look who is coming.” Gomez smiled. “What has happened Creepy Gesply, I come here so confident. Your grandma died and left you my six thousands, and 30 bucks more for one more dose?”.Gomes burst out of laughing, being really proud of his joke.”No” Damien smiled. “No? Than you have chosen the extreem way to kick the bucket, Crepsley” The next moment, Gomez and his guys got really high and couldn’t move.”Wait a second! What happened I am so stoned! Help me!” shouted Gomez. But nobody was listened to him. Everyone was high there. Everyone except Damien. He took Gomez’ money and junk and left. He went the next street and gave people money and junk for free. Afterwards he came to dealer and made the same thing. Again money and junk. No kills. He repeated this many times a day. He spent the whole week doing it. After many of the dealers disappeared from the streets Damien started to get people high for free. Now they were gathering in front of his place. He wasn’t kicked out of it just because he saved some money for paying the rent. It was becoming really annoying and he understood that the problem is not solved. Everything started to seem useless. Although there was no problem of drug se
Once in the street he saw several men tying to rape the black girl. He came there and got them high.”Lets go, please, it won’t last long.” The woman was shocked “Who for God’s sake are you?’ Just hurry we don’t have much time.”.”Believe me , I’m Crackman, savers of lost souls” he added pathetically.
They stood in the street silently. She was too shock for speaking, he was to shy to start speaking.“So what’s your name? Crackman? Wow this is the funniest thing I’ve heard for a long time” She smiled. “Nice nickname for a fancy guy” Damien felt really timid. No one ever told him he is fancy. No one ever told him he is attractive.”Well, as long as you helped me, I can invite you for, at least the cup of coffee”. She smiled one more time.”
Before felling to sleep he whispered “You know there is something I have to tell you”
“You’re trying to help them and still not confident if what you are doing is right?! God, you are on of the most controversial people I’ve ever met.” Damien looked at her , and could believe his eyes. She looked like a goddess to him.”Listen to what I say, and listen to it carefully. You are at least trying, this is the main point. All these stupid cowards would have sent them to a concentration camp, if it was legal, and you are trying to help them. Not really skillfully, but still you are at least trying.
… You know I thought about, what you have told me, this “cause and king” thing. By now you used only the king part…” she paused for a moment.” Sorry to say this but you may be need to think of yourself as a cause of addiction. Think about it boy. No offence but it is still really fearing.”
Chapter 6
Damien was obsessed. Really obsessed. Even one hundred of furious drug dealers with guns behind his door, wouldn’t make him so depressed. “What for fuck sake she meant saying this?”. “Stop lying to yourself, Damien. We both know what she thinks. The “king and the cause” thing. Live with it or die with it. He was quite clear from the beginning. It was You, who were always running from the truth.”
“Do it, Damien, although it is scary we both know it’s the only solution. As long as you came so far, take your last step like a man.”
Damien breathe in.”Ok lets do it. No more misery. No more spoilt lives . No more steal. No more fear. No more obsession. No more sin. Second Chance. No more dirt.”
Chapter N
4.15 Something is pushing on my mind, and veins are asking for a knife. But still cutting veins? No way! I always hated this emo stuff and it is way painful and long death. So how? How the fuck I will manage to do this shit?! Drowning? – fuck this shit, I was always afraid of open water, and it’s kind of cold to jump in the river. Drinking shampoo? No , useless, it will not kill me. Oh, there is a choice: barbiturates overdose with two shots of whiskey and a plastic bag on my head. Fuck it, they always made me want to shit. Hanging? No way I gonna make a knot. Write “White Power” on my t-shirt and go to Harlem? No to cowardly to do it and though I never liked those stupid Nazis. Oh that’s it! Jumping from the roof. I thought many times of doing this. Height Yeah many people “fall” from the windows in our desperate times. The only interesting way. Step. Wind. Ground. Feel the ground with your brain. Wait Damien, the last part never was part of your dreams .Decided. But before I need to meet her. Hug her the last time. And ask not to go with me this final time. Great let’s do it.
-Hi! How are you? Yeah Jah helps us. Are you free at 7pm? Great, lets meet close to the Empire State building. Yep great, see you.
5. 15.One last dose. That’s it…
Oh Fuck! It’s already 6.15, shit! Ok my where the fuck is my old tuxedo. Looking good at least the last moments. Perfect, I wish I worn it more in my previous life. Well, he smiled, too late to think about it.
6.45. “Need to buy her flowers. At least this last moment try to be a man Damien, try to do it right.”
7.00 Hi, really nice to see you this la…tonight. You look beautiful. Can you do me a favor? If something happens with me just write a story about me, so people won’t forget Me, The One who gave us the second chance, ok? Thank you. No, for real, I appreciate this. Ok sorry to, hmm , leave you I’ve some important stuff to do. He hugged her for the last time.
7.30 God! How beautiful the city is when it starts to sleep. Wow, never had a time to think about it, but it is really romantic. Fuck, it is so romantic! The sound of the street and the wind. He wishes he could he could have sex with her now, take off her pants, then his, rip off her underwear with his teeth. Wild sex like if it was their last sex. Well it had to be the last sex in his life.
Stop dreaming, start something. Last cigarette. Fire. Inhale . One step from the eternal nothing. Too far, too close. Never meant to be so pathetic. Jump. Stretching out arms. In several moments the strong force of the upcoming wind blew the cigarette from his mouth. “Fucked again …” he thought. Few moments after he crashed like a giant meat bomb. He killed 2 guys standing close to the building. A dealer and a guy who wanted to try something for the first time in his life. Be cool. Be free. Fuck this stupid ideals, in the end… in the end you just want to be clean, clean and pacify. And one more time you want to find freedom. Same as Damien many years ago. God, this life is nothing but a spiral, it ends and starts the same. “Always wanted to break something big” he smiled.
She finished the last paragraph. Cigarette. Inhale. Smoke. No more drugs. 9 months since he died. Funerals? She was there alone. No one came to say the last thank you. They started to realize that he was important many months afterwards. They got the link between the Crackman death and their second chance Some flowers appeared on his grave. But before it was just her speaking with wind. Suddenly she hears parts of the news radio: “…the problem of drug addiction have felled enormously for the last nine months. Government endorses the drug policy for almost reducing drug problem.” “Almost.” She thought. “There always gonna be lost souls. Just don’t give up. But He tried. He tried and succeeded. They got their second chance. Huh. Rest in Peace. You have done that. I bet it was fun, wasn’t it Damie?” She saw a bird passing by in the sky and smiled.
Букв многа и на буржуйском но прочитать мона =)я за это детище 5 получил =)
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