The Road To Salvation Is Through The Flames Of Hell….

Posted: July 26, 2010 in Short Stories
Tags: , , , , , ,

The Road To Salvation Is Through The Flames Of Hell….

By this time I’m dangerously low on drugs, not just ones for our head, but also ones to sell. So it’s now time to cook another batch. This is always simpler said than done. Not only do I need at least a week to round up supplies as inconspicuously as possible. But I also have to keep the army of random tweakers just popping up at my house at their leisure, at bay. So my stress level is usual somewhere around 88 on a scale of 1-10.  It’s usually during this stage of the game somebody gets tied to a chair and beat within an inch of their life for things as simple as coming over unannounced or leaving dirty dishes in my sink.

Surprisingly this batch goes off without a hitch. Well, sort of.   For some reason Catlin and I take all the safety precautions of cooking a batch of sugar cookies while manufacturing meth. A respirator, who the fuck needs one of those while creating hydrochloric gases?  Just breathe them right in, it’s a great high. We might as well be pouring acid directly on our brain stems. But no thought goes into consequences, when your motivation is pure greed on every level.  There’s also a total and absolute lack of trust in tweaker culture as well. A hardcore tweaker will scheme on, their own mother, trust me– I’ve seen it done. What’s about to happen will explain this trust issue all too well.

Three days have passed since we cooked the batch. As always we’ve gone miles over the edge without even pumping the breaks. I’m busy huffing ether through a rag in between cannon blasts of a speed pipe. The ether buzz is strange. For some reason I feel it in my asshole first. Seriously, that’s when I know it’s working its magic. A few deep inhales on the rag, and then a warm tingle on your sphincter, then it’s all wawawawawawawawawa, for a few moments. Good ether will grab you right by the asshole.

It is hot as the bowels of hell in my house. But that isn’t stopping us. We’ve got drugs to abuse. Verbs and I are keeping the pace of marathon runners, there’s no stopping us. Catlin however is being over taken by the combination of the sweltering humidity and lack of precious sleep. It’s not long before he’s passed out sitting against the wall on the floor. Verbs and I think nothing of it, and continue on with our speed and ether abuse.

About an hour later; I hear some rumbling its Catlin coming to. He has a look I know all too well in his eyes. He’s deep in psychosis. This is never a good thing. Catlin loves to carry guns, and on more than one occasion I’ve had to talk him out of shooting me, while he’s in this state of mind. The conspiracy theories that run through this kid’s head would make the 9/11 crowd look like they never heard of a plot any deeper than a Dr. Seuss book.

“I know what you did.” Catlin says, as he looks towards us with angry eyes.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“I over dosed and you and Verbs shot ecstasy under my fingernails to revive me!”

Oh, fuck! He’s beyond the back of beyond now. This is not going to be a good thing.

“Why the hell would I waste ecstasy on that? I’d have called an ambulance before I did that.”

“No, no, no you wanted to take the rest of my dope and needed to revive me to get it. Don’t lie to me. Why else would I just wake up like this and feel higher than I’ve ever been in my life? I can see the mark under my fingernail where you shot me up!”

“You’ve lost your mind, you crazy fuck if I shot you up, why would I choose to go under your fingernail and not in one of those fat veins you got?”

“Because you knew it would bring me back faster and I wouldn’t notice any track mark. You’re an evil bastard like that. I know you.”

He’s right about one thing I am an evil bastard, but he didn’t die and I’d never decide to shoot him up with ecstasy of all things had he really died. This is going to be a very touchy situation to bring him down to this planet, considering the fucker’s somewhere out in the crab nebula right now. Some people should never do amphetamines, and Catlin is definitely one of them.

Catlin reaches in his pocket and pulls out a sandwich bag that used to contain an ounce of meth. I say used to because now the bag is nothing but a mass of oil coating the bag. Fuck, no! He’d fallen asleep in this sweltering heat with the dope in his pocket. The combination of this and his body heat had melted it into oil and he’d been sucking it up through his skin! No wonder he’s out of his mind. Verb’s eyes snap to mine and we both know we’re in for it now.

“See you fucking thieves stole my dope and put a bag of cooking oil in my pocket!” Catlin screams.

‘We didn’t take shit you crazy fuck! You fell asleep with all that dope in your pocket and it melted into you! No wonder you’re so fucked up!”

This is anything but good. There’s no telling how much of this shit he’s absorbed into his skin. I’m waiting for him to pull out the gun and start shooting at any moment. I’ve been down this road with him more than once. The last time he was in this state of mind, he found some paperwork I had in my room from a court appearance I had for a graffiti charge, mind you he’d attended court with me on the day of trial and witnessed my sentencing. But for some reason because of his psychosis on the day he found it. He manifested this horrible fantasy that I was up in court testifying against him for manufacturing meth. It took me thirty of the longest minutes of my life to convince him otherwise. He held me at gunpoint while I explained to him he was completely out of his mind. He’d probably just instantly ingested more dope than he’d consumed in the entire week the previous incident happened.

“Catlin, you better go upstairs and try to wash that shit off of you. Go jump in the shower.” Verbs, suggests.

Luckily Catlin sees the logic and heads upstairs. Verbs having the sick sense of humor he has looks me dead in the eyes after Catlin is upstairs, and says “Let’s play a game, go outside and start peeping in the windows, first one to get shot loses.”

This is just the type of twisted fuck Verbs is. Nothing is ever taken seriously. No matter how insane or dire the situation, for some reason Verbs always can find humor in it. God bless him.

It’s not long before I hear some commotion coming from my backyard. I look out the window to find Catlin in my backyard smashing my safe open with a sledge hammer. What the fuck is this crazy bastard doing? By the time I get outside he’s busted it open and is dosing the 20 grand inside of it with lighter fluid!

“What the fuck are you doing?” I scream as rush towards him

“This is the devil’s money; we need to burn it to save our souls!”

“Burn it! I’ll fucking cut your balls off and feed them to you if you so much as burn a single penny of that money!”

“It’s the only way; we’ve sold our souls to the devil. We need to burn it all so we don’t burn in hell!”

“I’ll show you the fucking devil, goddamn it!”

Jesus, this is just what I need a 6’ 5” 270lb monster armed to the teeth in the throes of spiritual conflict and psychosis. He’ll surely be ready to grind my bones to dust in order to save his soul from eternal damnation. I look at my 20grand sopping in lighter fluid and the twisted fucker ready to set it ablaze to save his soul. There’s only one solution. I slowly back away to the corner of the house pick up the garden hose and turn the faucet on full blast, and begin hosing the crazed beast and my money down.

I make sure to keep the stream in his face to properly subdue the beast. In no time he’s on the ground laying in a puddle screaming for mercy.

“Burn my money? Save your soul? Here, here’s some holy water! The power of Christ compels you!”

“ARRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH! What the fuck are you doing?”

“Washing your sins away, that’s what you wanted right?”

“Stop it! Please stop!”

“Are you done?”

“Yes, I’m done just stop!”

“You’re fucking sure, you aren’t going to try and burn my money or any of this craziness!”

“Yes, yes, yes, just take that fucking hose off of me!”

Sometimes drastic actions can only be solved with drastic measures. I knew the fucker was bat shit crazy, I didn’t want to harm him, just stop him. Once he got up off the ground, he made his way to his car and tore off mumbling something about how I was going to burn in hell and he’d be back. I’d spend the better part of an hour picking sopping wet bills up from around my yard. I’d blasted it all over the yard in the process of hosing the beast down. Drugs and religion never mesh well together.

  1. onekitty21 says:


  2. DrHunter66 says:

    Fucking brilliant. Loved it and can’t wait to read much, much more. Cazart.

  3. flaneroneski says:

    oh wow. funniest story i’ve read in a long time.

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