author's note: heroin kenny! who doesn't love druggy kenny?
He told himself he wouldn't, but he was just so impulsive, and how can he refuse, when the amber orbs were just sitting there in front of him, grimly inviting? The blonde had no fears, had no reason, no point, his life was spent like the phoenix and he considered it a damned one, lost in a monotonous pattern of death and gore and why the fuck wouldn't he do this drug when it all didn't matter?
He had regarded the crooked-toothed smile of a friend as he'd held out his palms to receive the small package, rolling it in his palms and then melting it on the hot metal, the torch turning the bottom side of the pan to an iridescent orange that lit his face. The liquid turned, syrupy and enticing, swirling his reflection on its pristine surface.
The precise point of the needle lapped greedily at the pooled substance and he gazed serenely at the syringe. He delicately tied a soft cloth about his forearm, straining his veins together tightly. He gazed at the innocent, pale arms, seeing small cords of muscle intertwined with vein. And he selected the point of ecstasy.
As he pressed, he was heaven. The liquid flowed into his being and he swooned, closing his eyes and shifting slowly. He reveled in temptation as his bottom eyelids turned soft, thin rosepetals, a slight cool. Through his eyes, the stars swirled. He leaned back into a chair and felt a ghost hand on his chest, brushed it aside, eager to spend time drifting, sinking into the musty fabric... He saw himself heading for the door, and with a pull of the orange hood over a shock of messy blonde locks, he left the fake friends and the drugs and he headed for an unknown.
He danced his dance around the city, dead night, grinning, seeing through hazy eyes, his blood thick, warm. In that moment he regarded his wrecklessness as genius as he dimly smiled at passersby watching him churn. He made his way down an alley as a chill flitted past his knee through ripped, tight denim. The white noise of the night washed over him as he wiped his nose with a careless palm. The night's chill did not dissuade the boy on his destructive path; he crouched himself behind a trash bin in the alley and observed the dinge with wonder. He rocked on the balls of his feet, grinning and crooning.
Somehow his body found its way to the cold gravel. Banging his chin on the concrete as he toppled, he stuck out a bleeding tongue. Licking the corners of his mouth, he sighed and lidded his eyes as he calmly announced himself "The reincarnation of KurtfuckingCobain!". He felt his vision becoming staticky, pursing his lips as blood flowed down from his mouth to his chin. Crossing his arms out in front of him, he closed his eyes and drew his expression into a half-smile before his head hit the pavement with a thump.
end note: I DON'T. DO. HEROIN. no one, should do heroin. don't do fucken hard drugs. just don't. okay? okay. review please? xooxoxoxxoxoxoxoxo