"My story is, sadly to say, not an uncommon one even in the small town I come from, though in my cocaine ridden imagination it was unique, exciting and romantically self-destructive. I looked at myself as pushing my mind to the gates of darkness and returning, and I welcomed the pain of addiction as divine instruction and the price one paid the fiddler for a dance. I was a little insane and could not think clearly about the situation I was finding myself increasing wound up in because I was immersed. The cocaine colored all my perceptions and redirected my aspirations. I will tell the story of a single night that marks a turning point for me, the night that I was forced to confront my imaginary self and look this individual in the eyes only to discover a emptiness and vacancy of purpose that confounds my imagination today. I was split in two and the two were united in a strange place and the person who emerged was again one, a shadow of the two separately. I now live in a shadow realm and all life has receeded from me, melting into a distance that is slowly loosing distinction even in the world of memory. All that remains is legacy of a ceremony that is gone, cutting lines and smoking crack.
My home is an island and few people lived there, though now that has all changed. The military established a base there providing the locals with jobs and income. The island grew then, embracing more urban ideas and people longed to distance themselves from the old, traditional ways in order to become someone else, collectively. There was a little shame in the eyes of the not-so-young ones who looked at the young and their seeming freedom and ability to phase into the world of the new.
This world was represented in cocaine and I was of the young-young. I felt the drug reach out to me in my family home, like an invisible hand that moves pieces around a board, appearing to move by magic. But, believe me, there is a design and a mover. This mover was the white hand of death.
My friend and I would sit around a table and snort the white powder. One day we we high and came up with a plan to rob the local temple of its funds to get a big rock of blow and start injecting it with heroin.
We ripped off the temple and caused the children's chariries to go without necessay medicine. The children were dying for lack of vaccinations, and me and my friend and the COCAINE monkey we riding HIGH. Or so we thought.
One night, following a week of sleepless carousing and petty buglary, my friend and I ran into a seemingly harmless old, bald tribesman who cursed us in the streets as turncoats and ungreatful urbanites. My friend, nearly insane from cocaine induced paranoia, pulled a gun. The man then proceeded to blame us for the robbery of the temple, saying he witnessed all! That he had proof! Well, I felt all of the eyes on the street probing us, and my friend shot into the air and everone fell and we ran. As we were running, an MP shot my friend in the back, killing him instantly. A shot through the heart. I fell to the ground and was then beaten by the outraged crowd of villagers, who could only be stopped by the MPs. I was crippled. No one was charged. My family, overcome by shame, disowned me immediately. I was alone. I migrated to the states and now live in NC in public housing, living off of dole food and evacuating my bowles into a plastic bag that is tied to my hip.
My point, children, is this. Don't do as I have done, as I am a wreck of a half man that no woman will ever love. I live for nothing, I am an alcoholic. Thank you...and keep off the cocaine!!!!!
Flem Wall Snopes
10 March 2000
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