It

Photo by Susan Spaulding

When the lunacy that is drug addiction had removed every shred of decency from their young lives, they moved in with his mother to share the spartan bedroom of his youth.

When he fell prey once again to his mistress heroin and succumbed to an overdose less than a month before their first anniversary, she made a pallet  of his unwashed clothing and an old pillow from his childhood closet, and slept there swaddled in memories of him long after his scent had dissipated.

It was there when she first heard the dulcet tones of an old familiar, never to be forgotten voice. It enticed her with the prospect of gathering her up in Its warm undulating caress. It promised to separate her from the devastating loneliness she ached with her every waking moment, by replacing it with a soothing chasm of nothingness that would insulate her from anything or anyone that could do her harm.

When that failed- like a banshee It screamed at her that she was a weak, useless, unlovable junkie left all alone in a world that had long ago cast her aside.

When they found her, It was sitting cross legged on the bed- laughing.

Daily Writing Challenge- forgotten, anniversary, spartan

Word of the Day- lunacy

Sunday Photo Fiction

Scotts Daily Prompt-heroin

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