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The Circle

by Kristopher Michael Cafaldo 2 years ago in addiction
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A short story

The Circle
Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash

The Circle

I find myself in a familiar room. There’s the smell of incense and tobacco with hand rolled cigarettes all over the living room coffee table. I stare at the same Starry Night that hangs on the back wall. So often I find myself here and never am I excited to come. I’m here to get what I need and get out. That’s all. Some time passes. Finally, I’m greeted by my “doctor,” the man responsible for my weekly fix. He smiles at me, and I feigned a smile back. “What’ll it be this time?” he asks. “Just my usual. Enough to keep me going for the week.” I subconsciously scratch my head. It’s as if I know it’s wrong for me to be here. I ignore the thought and wait while my “doctor” gets my prescribed dose. He weighs it out, bags it up and sticks out his hand for payment. I cough up 80 dollars out of my 240 dollar weekly paycheck. I immediately head towards the door, meds in hand. “See you next week!” the “doctor” calls out. “See you next week,” I mutter with contempt in my voice.

I waste no time getting home. I take the backroads because they’re not patrolled by pesky cops. The speed limit is 40, but I always go out 85. The roads are straight for long stretches with only a few twists and turns. “Man I can’t wait to get home.” My mind is fixed on my meds. Soon, all of my pain, all of my worries and troubles will fade away. I arrive at my double-wide and can hardly contain myself. I leap out of my car and try to open the front door. I fumble my keys in the dark. “Where is it, where is it?” I pick out the house key, only to drop the ring. “Fuck!” Beads of sweat drip down my forehead. All I want to do is medicate. Finally, I get the door open. I rush inside. I throw my coat and keys on the floor and unpackage my meds. I load them into my grinder and fill up the black stained pipe. With a deep breath in, I exhale all of my sorrow, all of my sadness, all of my pain, and all of my sanity. The room is filled by my plume of smoke. I look across to the mirror hanging on my wall. Something seems different. “I don’t look like myself.” Feeling frightened, I smoke more. The paranoia is eating at me. “More, more, I need more.”

I smoke my whole supply in one night. Like a dragon that devours its tail, I am never full. Enough is never enough. I reach for my phone and call my doctor. “Hello?” “Hey it’s me again, would I be able to make an appointment for tomorrow?” There is a pause. “Dear me, did you go through your medicine in one night?” With not a shred of embarrassment I answer “Yeah. I need more.” Not seeming concerned in the slightest the doctor replies, “Alright. Why don’t you stop by at noon tomorrow?” I affirm. I hang up and sit staring at the mirror. Before I know it, I’m surrounded by the smell of incense and tobacco again, waiting to feed the dragon that devours its own tail while staring at the same Starry Night painting.


About the author

Kristopher Michael Cafaldo

A writer interested in all things human. From psychology to poetry, anything that makes you think hard and feel even harder.

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