The Despotic Vial

My thumb pressed the plunger down. Every inch of skin bubbled underneath as if my blood began to boil, as if my body tried to escape its leathery shell. The thought of Nandi crosses my mind for the umpteenth time to the point where I imagined her tiny, childlike smile appear. She is nine years old again, the innocent laughter of youth echoing between my ears as she hops and skips on the chalked pavement in front, stretching out her hand towards me. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes as I failed to grasp her hand, wincing at the thought of all the times I have let her down. The illusion persisted, no matter where I looked Nandi would remain in sight. She is older now; still bearing the signs of adolescence on her face. She glowers down at me as I collapse on the epoxy floor of our old apartment. Her mother stands in the threshold of the doorway, bags packed by the door, she grabs Nandi’s hand and drags her away. And just like that, she disappears again for one last time.

I sat there then as I did now and stared at my meaty fingers, trying to flex them apart from each other. A wave of fluid coursed through my veins that would have pumped my hands to give them life, but to no avail. My hands slumped to my sides and slapped the pavement beneath me, the sound reminiscent of a hot water bottle and the feeling in my hands like gelatinous ooze. An echo of glass clattered and bounced in the alleyway as a dirty syringe fell from my elbow pit. I gazed down the length of my arms and looked at the pocked scars of my growing track record, unsure which arm I used to take the plunge. The most likely one, I figured, was the arm that bled and began to pool. The puddle shimmered under the intoxicating glow of nightclubs that frolicked above. My mouth itched and grew dry as I stared at the pond on my arm. In an instant, I dove headfirst to suck the pond dry, savouring every drop. The hazy mixture of blood and Copper Cloud washed over me, reverberating every glob of fat in my skull. I surrendered to its will as the back of my head tapped the brick wall that supported my posterior, the ‘kife’ of the high taking me away to a new and familiar heaven on earth. For the first time in a long time, I forgot about Nandi.

My vision darkened as the Copper Cloud pulled me away. My body felt weightless now, free from the material realm, I have reached my escape. However, a tiny whisper nagged at the back of my mind that this moment of bliss would be a short one and within an hour, I would feel it all again. The pain, the world spinning, the air heavy on my lungs, the insufferable gravity that presses down, Nandi, and all of it, my life in infinite turmoil. Time and pain coinciding, the ‘cloud’ would drift away and its invisible hand inevitably releasing its hold as I fall again, back into the pathetic shell of my body.

A sudden pain pierced my side as a blunt object akin to rubber or a kind of polymer punched my ribcage alongside a young feminine voice which brought me forth to consciousness, “Wake up, papasha.”

I struggled to prop myself up as symptoms of withdrawal set in. As I pushed up from the stained floor my triceps cramped, causing me to shoulder the ground. The ache in my left arm cascaded throughout my entire body, every fibre became a conduit, and every joint a transformer that intensified pain. I strained my eyes as a light-blue hue of fluorescent light bloomed. On my back I managed to lift myself up on my elbows and lean against a bench covered in resinated fabric. The bench was soft to the touch but uncomfortable to lean on, the fabric design was a cross between art deco and a moquette pattern that rendered me nauseous and the colour didn’t help either. My eyes rolled back as I placed a hand over my mouth, saliva releasing as a pre-emptive response to the release of vomit. Attempting to breathe and suppress the urge, I closed my eyes and concentrated on my heartbeat, but instead, the sound of wind rushing through open windows rattled my auditory senses. The ground began to shake as the structure vibrated to a mechanical sequence that seemingly scraped the roof above. My diaphragm expanded in my ribcage and my stomach crawled up my throat. Even with my best efforts, I failed to contain myself.

When I came to a few minutes later, my expulsion was as repugnant as the seat covers, yet, had only made worse by a marginal degree. I looked towards the ceiling and saw a map of a public transport network written in several languages. To my surprise, I was aboard the New Chiba Suspension Rail, without any recollection of hopping on.

The young voice spoke to me again but in a more supportive tone yet at the heart of it, it hinted apathy, “Papasha, I told you before to go easy when you ride the Copper Cloud.” The voice giggles.

Nearby, the sound of a bottle smashes against a wall. My eyes darted around for the source of the sound but there was no evidence of broken glass around. The sudden noise worked to favour as it offered me a moment of reprieve to gather my thoughts. I couldn’t meet the eyes of the stranger without shame for making such a mess in a public space. Although, I should be used to it by now. Timidly, I trailed my eyes towards the sound of the voice. To my immediate right, stood a pair of salmon pink rain boots with a rosewood marble finish, the size of them suggesting that the stranger could be a child, or an adult with extremely tiny feet. Out of politeness, despite my shameful predicament, I raised my eyes to greet the stranger. The stranger that spoke to me was a little girl. Even with her height at about four feet tall and holding a playful smile, she seemed to tower over me with an air of abject judgement. She wore a similar coloured rain jacket as her boots and wore her hood up to cover her head, despite the both of us being on a moving train.

For a moment I stared at the subject of her face which was strikingly similar to Nandi’s when she herself was nine. However, there were subtle differences that were clear to me that this girl is not my daughter. This girl, for one, had bright silver hair where Nandi’s was black. Secondly, her eyes were a bluish-grey instead of a hickory brown. Lastly, she held a particular grin that seemed mischievous and weathered by a life that reeked of sinister elements. She seemed like she had a beaten old soul and it was not by choice. Nandi had it better than this girl by the time she turned nine, even though I was increasingly less around for her then. Despite the differences between the two, the appearance of this other girl is incredibly uncanny. If I had somehow forgotten that the last time Nandi was nine was around twelve years ago, I would have mistaken this girl for my own daughter. Perhaps if I held a sober mind, I would have recognized who this girl was a lot sooner.

“I will go easy on the Cloud when you stop selling it to me.” I replied.

“You know I can’t stop now, papasha,” she laughed, “I gotta think about my future. I have a family to feed, and you’re my number one customer!”

The girl’s name was Pinto Bean, at least, that is what she told me the first time I bought Copper Cloud from her. Pinto was not the first dealer I ever bought the ‘Cloud’ from, but she is the longest I have ever had the pleasure of doing business with. Her Copper Cloud is a better quality than others I dealt with. My last dealer claimed he was a doctor and had some good product as well, but he had mysteriously vanished a month or two back. Since then, I was referred to this little girl. On one of our interactions she claimed to have been involved in this ‘lucrative’ business for quite some time. Perhaps it was her size, age, or her demeanor that has helped her evade arrest, regardless, Pinto Bean was reliable and always delivered. Regrettably, the idea of buying narcotics from a minor was not lost on me, but I needed my fix. Although I would never admit this to anyone, the minimal interactions with Pinto Bean were like making up for lost time with Nandi. The Copper Cloud fixes helped matters and eased the ruminations of the past. So, I continue to buy from Pinto and would call it a ‘donation’ as if I were sponsoring a child, which in some way I was, and it made me feel charitable as if I was doing the right thing.

Pinto stood there with an uneasy grin for a time while I slouched awkwardly on the soiled bench. My faculties slowly came back to me as I noticed the train hadn’t stopped in the past ten minutes since I regained consciousness. I tried to play it off as if my nerves were all shot, which they were, but the sense of something unsettling creeped at the back of my mind. There was something odd about Pinto Bean that I didn’t notice before. As I looked upon her face, I realized she had been wearing makeup and her face appeared a bit more swollen than previous meetings. That was when I saw the dried blood that was covered by her hair. Whether it was instinct, or fatherly concern, I jumped up to see if she was okay. She screamed.

“Back away from me, you fucking creep! Don’t you dare touch me!” cried Pinto.

Her voice startled me. The sound of her scream took a deeper, mature tone, and her appearance changed as if she suddenly grew in a split second before my eyes. The resemblance between Pinto and Nandi became evermore stronger. Pinto Bean appeared older and her facial features became pronounced with a sharper chin and cheekbones. Her bluish-grey eyes sunk and her playful smile twisted into a grimace out of fear. The position of my hands held out in front struck a chord within me as I understood my mistake. Slowly, I lowered my hands and backed away from Pinto. The young woman’s appearance reverted back to that of a nine year old girl. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief at the sudden changes. I racked my brain to make sense of what transpired. The only explanations that made sense were either bearing witness to a vision of this girl’s future, or some kind of hologram tech that was warping my perception. Both seemed like a possibility at this rate.

We were positioned on opposite sides of the train car with our hands on the rails for stability and stood in awkward silence. Pinto rubbed her eye and dried her tears with the wrist collar of her jacket. The silence finally broke when the sound of a car horn blared and a gruff voice yelled obscenities behind me.

“Get off the road, jackass!”

I looked over my shoulder to find the voice came from the window behind me. Leaning over the passenger bench I peered through the window and saw what I expected to see, towering walls of concrete high-rises and a myriad of neon colours and flashing lights of a familiar district in New Chiba City. My eyes were drawn to the road, several dozens of meters down to a man sauntering in the middle of traffic. The car horns blared in a chaotic orchestra fueled by impatience and rage. Somehow, the sounds from the street below, overshadowed the mechanical noises of the train car. The sauntering man peaked my curiosity as he shambles towards an undetermined destination. He wore a jacket similar if not identical to my own, but I couldn’t quite get a good look at his face.

“You are going to get me out of here,” demanded Pinto Bean.

I looked over towards the previously frightened little girl and the pain in my joints intensified to the point of crippling. A sharpness wrenched in my gut as I fell down to my knees. I groaned and managed a response to the little girl’s demands.

“I can’t help anyone, child. I can’t help myself. I can’t even help my own daughter. What makes you think I’ll be of any help to you?”

Pinto Bean walked over and knelt down to look at me in the eyes and dangled a syringe with copper-yellow liquid in front of my face.

“Because you have no choice, papasha,” she replied, “a madman has taken us hostage and we are on the way to city hall. Two cars ahead of us is filled with explosives. We have to stop the man running the train. If you do, you will get some Copper Cloud for free.”

The wrenching pain in my gut spread at the notion of another dose, my body reeling as if to tell me, “no more” or “just one more”, I couldn’t tell the difference. I groaned in agreement as Pinto lead the way through the train cars. Like a child in a playground, Pinto hopped and skipped through each car. Like a victim of a car accident, I limped and leaned against any flat surface for support, every step an agonizing hell as I struggled to survive.

Along the way a distant cry for help echoed nearby, the voice reminded me of Nandi’s, but my attention was abruptly cut and drawn to the pile of explosives haphazardly strewn about on the ground in front of me. I tripped over what felt like a concrete step and my foot felt wet as if I had stepped in a puddle of water. I looked around to see the pile of explosives rigged to explode with an egregious amount of timers that flashed zero. My heart skipped a beat. Pinto Bean however, paid no attention to the comically large pile of bombs, TNT, grenades, and wires, almost unaware of the plethora of danger obstructing our path. Despite having little to no knowledge of explosives, even to me, it all seemed a little excessive. Towards the end of the train car ahead, two wires separated from the rest that led to the head control car.

Pinto and I traversed the remaining two cars, following the trail of wire that connected the explosives and stopped at the entrance to the driver’s cabin. While limping towards our destination, the cries for help grew stronger.

“Somebody, please! Help me!”

I pried open the doors to the driver’s cabin. At the controls stood the madman with a devilish grin, he faced us as if expecting our arrival. In his right hand held a detonator with a trigger that connected to the two wires. Cold sweat poured down the nape of my neck as I shuddered at the anticipation of what’s to come.

“Get your fucking hands off me you creep! Help! Somebody, please!” cried the voice.

The screams came from inside the driver’s cabin, I stood at the threshold and quickly looked around. Every time I blinked the world changed, the cabin turned dark, the walls became brick, and the threshold became the entrance to an alleyway. But the madman remained the same except, in his hand he held a gun pointed directly at me. Wrapped in his other arm was a woman with black hair and hickory brown eyes, Nandi.

Nandi screamed once more, her cries terrified me. I blinked as cold sweat burned my eyes. The dire scene kept changing between the alleyway and the driver’s cabin, Nandi’s screams changed between hers and the cries of the young girl, Pinto. The madman held both Nandi in the alley and Pinto in the cabin as I stood there, motionless until time began to slow down. I heard my heart beat faster as I took the first step towards the man that controlled our fates at the press of a trigger. The rush of energy filled my head as my vision narrowed towards the gun and the detonator. In one second, I grabbed his right hand and began to wrestle it away from him. The man suddenly gained momentum and kneed me in the gut and kicked me away. I fell to my knees as the pain from his attack combined with the pain of withdrawal that crippled my body. I strained my eyes up at him as the madman smirked and pulled the trigger twice.

The sound deafened me as the man shot me twice in the chest, each muzzle flash lit up the alleyway, each bullet a searing pain that left my lungs filled with blood. The smell of expelled gunpowder burned my nostrils. I winced as I struggled to breathe. At the driver’s cabin, the madman had pressed the trigger to the detonator but my collapsed body disconnected the wires from it. In frustration, the man kicked me again while I was on the floor and ran away. Pinto Bean knelt down beside me and let out a strained cough before she spoke to me.

“I knew you could do it papasha.” She said, “Here’s a dose, on the house.” Pinto smiled and put another vial of Copper Cloud in my front left pocket.

Pinto patted my cheek as if to say, ‘good boy’, before she up and left me there to die. In doing so I closed and reopened my eyes to the alleyway, my left hand sopping wet whilst holding my chest as my attempts to breathe expelled a river of blood from my lungs. My daughter Nandi knelt over me, tears poured from her face onto mine. I had so much I wanted to say to her then, years of rehearsed lines yearning to be said. I wondered when she grew from a little girl into such a beautiful young woman, what schools she went to, what career she picked for herself, whether she had a partner – someone she could count on being there for her, all the times she was happy or sad, it didn’t matter what. I simply wanted to know because there was too much time that had already separated us. Every day I regretted my mistakes, my folly, and my absence. I have waited for many years for a sign, any sign that Nandi wanted to see me, to speak to me. And now, as I laid there on the alleyway floor looking up into her soft hickory brown eyes, it was my moment to be with my daughter again and all I needed to do is to just say something.

“Dad?” asked Nandi, “thank you for saving me. Thank you for saving my life.”

I felt tears well up in my eyes and the pressure build up in my chest. I reached out and cupped my hand against her cheek and wiped away her tears. The words, “I've always loved you, Nandi” were drowned in a geyser of blood as I coughed and choked. I felt my hand slump down to my side like a hot water bottle and my body felt weightless. My vision grew dark as the face of my daughter seemed to float away, her hand held out to my face as if she reached out to me through the shadows. In the distance, I could hear her voice speak to me one last time before my world faded to black and Nandi disappearing again for one last time.

“Don’t leave me.”

The skin on my body heated up and the weight on my joints ached. The brick wall that supported my backside scraped the back of my head as I fell to my side. I am back in the alleyway, the dirty syringe on the floor next to me, the flashing neon lights of nightclubs partying away on the streets above. My mouth itched and dry from the ‘kife’ of the high. I am back in my body in the material realm. The air heavy on my lungs, the gravity on my shoulders. I shed a tear as I thought about Nandi again and how I wish I could be there for her. I reached in my right front pocket and pulled another vial of Copper Cloud, ready for another dose, ready to forget again.