no one would listen (l.s)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

This is it.

The musty fog that envelops the air tells it so. The sound of the livid, soft-harsh thunder that rumbles throughout the walls. The depressing yet warming gentle coldness of it attracts you to its persistent downpour.

The boy slouches up from his bed with his gray woolen blanket draped around him. This is a particularly fine day. With the sooty gray sky covering the joyous sun. He smirks at his reflection plastered on the misty window with his unruly curls running astray to every direction possible. His eyes puffy red from another tear spent on one of his sleepless nights. The bones from his collar showing from his blanket.

This indeed is the perfect day.

He drags himself back to the side of his moss colored bedding to grab the black chest box from under it that was next to a brown woody braids that he neglects for the moment.

It's his last stash of all sorts of narcotics. His remedies. Antidote. His needles. Lighter. Spoons. Papers. Straws. Ties. He then smiles with the anticipation in his bones. The thrill of the high. The promised Neverland. The paradise.

He unfolds himself bare from the blanket and toss them aside somewhere on his bed. He parks himself on the cold pavement and chooses his first poison.

The sudden knock on his locked door makes him jump up and frantically covers himself overly with his blanket.

“W.. Who’s there?” He stammers. Cradling himself protectively with the only piece of dressing he has on.

A delicate old womanly voice speaks up from the door, “Master Harry, breakfast is fixed if you don’t mind joining. Or shall I deliver it through your door?”

“No, sorry. It’s fine. I’ll be down in a moment.” He huffs out a sigh of relief and composure. “Will my father be showing up to the dining table as well?”

“I'm 'fraid not, young master. Master Colin is preparing to leave for the theater any minute now. He’s just waiting for the car out front.” The woman explained.

“Thank you, Lisha. I’ll be down in a few.”

Though not able to see, the woman curtsied before strolling away from the exit and proceeding back down to mend for the first meal of the day.

Harry calms his erratic breathing. He thinks, will constantly think that he will fear who might be on the other side of the door. But for right now, breakfast. He forces the thoughts aside and think back to what to might serve him to the utopia he longs for.

This is it.

Cannabis.

The perfect dope to deliver him high and relaxed and mellow. And it would very well compliment with the food.

He chooses the paraphernalia to start the journey. He's fingers shake from what he guesses as him being giddy.

He tightly tucks and rolls the marijuana, closing them shut with a sliver of his saliva. He stares at the masterpiece and remembers how he was taught on how to do it and instantly regrets going to that train of thought.

Nevertheless, Harry smokes the dope. Inhaling it thoroughly to his lungs and keeping it in until it starts hurting before letting it out with a light but persistent cough. He does this for five more deep drags until there was none. Until, his lungs are screaming at him.