Junk Metal

“Damn it,” Jake said burning his finger, trying to light a roach. “Hell.” It hurt real bad all over. Feeling was returning, and all the cutting, fighting and falling, he had gotten while high, would seer with pain when he came back down. Jake picked up another roach from the ashtray. Desperate for relief, he smoked the last of it breathing in deep. He coughed. However, the sound was not that of a cough. It was as painful to listen to as fifteen loud, badly played violins. He uttered another swear through dry, cracked lips. Vision blurred and legs of rubber he staggered from his parents’ porch to the “County Dump” and collapsed on the hood of a beat up red Camry.

“You wantin somethin’?”Asked a smug smooth voice from inside the car.

“I don-ugh.” Jake smiled as he unbent his back “I don’t want anything, anymore, R.C., but boy am I in need.”

The dark face poked through the shattered window and smiled back at the bleached boy on his car. R.C. knew Jake. Hell, he knew Jake’s whole family. They were all clients and co-workers. “You’re lookin bad, real bad.” Always-good news in the business world. “You got cash, none of this I.O.U bull shit?”

“Man! I’m broke! I just need a fix…” pitiful. Pride less. A poor beggar with no soul to sell. If you can see him in your mind or maybe down the street, it should be an image that haunts you day and night. A human hollowed out inside. It’s a miserable sight. A slow suicide, which redefines the addict’s life, “Please… I’m desperate.”

“ You sure are.” R.C. eyed Jake through his mirror ray bands. Jake had the shakes from addiction and the shivers from the autumn breeze. There he was weekly in the same dirty, flannel, shirt and old, torn, jeans held. He was a skeleton in a fat man’s cloths. Only his shoes fit him. His hollowed out brown eyes pleaded R.C. “No way! This business don’t run on pity. You know that. You need crack you need cash. And I don’t care how you get it.”

Jake had searched his mom’s purse and dad’s wallet. Over the past month, he had survived by stealing and dealing. Most kids would have felt guilt for having taken from their parents, but not Jake. His parents had led him to this damned existence! He was what people refer to as a ‘love child’, but he never got much love. Mr. Barkley was an alcoholic, who couldn’t keep a job, or control his temper.

On a moment of rebellion, Jake took all his dad’s bottles to the junkyard and drank himself dead. Some worker found him and called an ambulance. They got his stomach pumped. He lived, only to get the shit beat out of him by dear Daddy. To ease her child’s pain Mom would give him white pills, which she used for escape from her trapped life.

He found no money or pills. Mom was passed out on the sofa with the radio on and a spilled cup on the floor. She had Jake’s tall thin body. Junkie thin of course they also had the same full lips and heart shaped face. Her lips were stained and face deep with lines and hollowed cheeks. Still you knew she was a real beauty, before the world had made her into rusted scrap metal. Jake watched his mom, she seemed peaceful. But he knew how she would feel when she came back. That was the problem, coming back. Like he was now.

The door slammed open waking his mom up. In staggered a tall leather skinned hairy man with wire legs. “Honey, I quit,” Mr. Barkley slurred.

He moved with a graceless limp, falling on to the sofa as his wife jumped up. Assessing his state “you …” she said through gritted teeth. Jake ducked into the bathroom, but heard the argument through the paper-thin walls. Goose bumps where running up and down his body but he felt hot. He hadn’t showered for a few days. Hadn’t come down for a few days. He didn’t sweat enough to need showers; skin was always dry as ash.

“I’m a lousy parent?! Where are your brats, Bitch? Not home with you! ” Was heard as the shower turned off. Jake stepped out stubble on the wet tiles and slid against the sink. The bathroom spun around him as his head hint the mirror.

Was he screaming…

Or was it his mom…

How had things gotten this bad?

When things came to focus Jake was in the old Ford going nowhere. Dad had landed them in a ditch where the wheels spun and the engine roared. Father and son sat together with blood dripping down their cheeks. The driver dreaming, and the other

hoping to wake-up.

The blasting sirens did his head no good, and the flashing lights burned through his brain leaving nightmares to rankle. He smiled to himself, turned the radio up as loud as it went. ‘Paint it black’ drowned out the sirens. And the lights faded as he joined his dad.

Knock knock, the cracked door squeaked open bumping against the adjacent wall.

“Hey Snake, Time to get up. You’ve got 15minutes to get ready for group.” A big bald black man dressed in the loss garnets of a nurse popped his head in and out if the room. Only to move on to the next cracked door down the hall.

“15 minutes.” Rolling on to his side with no care to star yesterday again. For weeks ever day was the same of course new patience would arrive with the same problems as those who had left. The same sob stories, the same motivational B.S., the same schedule, the same view. He laughed muttering to the empty bed across the room. “God I Would trade my sight for one day out of here.”

“That’s a deal for the devil not for me.” Jake jumped spinning top the door. “Now get moving.” The nurse flashed a shinning white smile and shut the door behind him leaving Snake standing alone.

7:38- Kids where already gathered in the center room laying on couches or slouching in chairs. Each one looked a mess but seemed to belong. There where two girls and three guys in the room when Jake walked in. He studied them taking a sit by the girl wearing tight torn jeans and a tie-dye shirt; she glanced at him and nodded with a hint of a smile. “Jake, right?”

“Yeah. Um…” there was an awkward pause as he tried to find a name.

“It’s Riley.” She filled in the blank agitated “my name is Riley.”

He nodded thinking she was pretty she must be relatively new, the longer you’re here the worse you look. There was no reason to look pretty and the rules made it impossible to try. There was no make-up or hair ties allowed, almost every kind of cleanser was banned because of toxic chemicals. Instead, they had a soap-dispenser in ever shower. This soap leaves your skin waxy and your hair sticky. But it wasn’t the hair or skin that covered their beauty it was the hospital. The lifeless habitat seemed to suck the light out of every patient’s eyes, and the medications would drown out the colors, leaving wax statues black holes for eyes.

He was about to tell her, she was pretty, when ‘God’ called his name. ‘God’ wore lose purple Nurse clothes and name tag that read “KENT”. He stood by the heart monitor motioning Jake to come.

Jake slouched down in the chair strapped the armband to his arm and out the thermometer in his mouth before Kent could touch him. “Sit up.” He did the thermometer beeped and Kent wrote down the number “Are you have any homicidal thoughts?” The daily questions began.

“No.”

“Any suicidal?”

“No.”

“Anything-

“No.”

“Do you-

“No.”

“Please let me finish the question.”

“No.” Jake smiled meeting God’s eyes.

“Jake…” he started irritated.

Jake grabbed the nametag and his folder “ now I’m Kent. I could do this job for you. I already know the questions by heart.” He scanned over the survey checking in each answer as he went “ Homicidal: No, suicidal: No, Physical pain: No, desire for Pain: No, medication: yes, -

“Between you and me Question one I’ll answer yes.” Said go staring down at his prey which stared back smugly.

“Is that a threat? Cause question number…8 is: Do you fear some one is out to harm you or watching you? Yes! There is a fucking camera in my room!”

“Take a seat.” Kent was on his last straw and Jake could see the lightning-bolts in his bark eyes.

The routine returned to normal and Riley was called to the checkup chair.

“Hey check out the new girl.” Said the boy dressed in camoufla. Lying on the sofa, everyone turned their eyes away from Jake to the entrance hall. “Wow she looks like a real freak.” Not that army-man had the right to call any one a freak.

“The poor thing looks frightened to death.” Said Marry the date-rate victim, “wonder where her parents are.”

“Maybe she’s a runaway,” Said Cydney jumping up from the floor to get a better look.

“No way. Who would runaway in a suit? She looks like one of those catholic schoolgirls probably a boarding school. Bet she’s another suicide virgin scared that she’s ended up in hell.” A dark boy stated in a dragging monotone.

Jake turned to look. Yup Professor was right she defiantly looked to be that type probably overdosed on sleeping pills and was still recovering. She swayed against the wall eyes darting up down right left then round again as though following a fly, her mouth seemed to be moving muttering something to herself (probably Hail Mary’s) every muscle would twitch on her body. Riley walked back to sit where she had a good view. The girl was a ghost. Jake could not stand to watch her. This place took the beauty out of people but the worse they ever look is when they first arrive. No one ever plans to end up. And being suddenly dropped there, told 'you need to be reprogrammed' is a terrifying experience. People come hung over or unconscious, they come from hospitals with stitches on there wrist or charcoal on their breath, they came from therapist with bruised knuckles and wild eyes, they came with stories best untold, secrets that will be torn from their iron grips. Every day there was a new arrival. And departures. People came and went at such a pace that it was pointless to remember their names for the short time they were here.

The ghost jumped and spun when a nurse touched her shoulder. The nurse led her to the physical room.

7:45- “Quiet down ladies and gentlemen,” the therapist stood in the center of the horse –shoe smirking at the juvenile delinquents. “Today’s schedule is the same as yesterday and the days before…and to star off the day lets go around the group tell us your name, age, and why you are here. You.” He said pointing to the boy dressed in camouflage and leather army boots with no laces. Everyone wondered how they stayed on his feet with out laces. While other kids went around in slippers or bare foot he wore those heave black steel toed boots that clung to his feet as though they where meant to be on his feet and no one else’s.

The boy nodded looking up at the ceiling “ I’m Logan Brown. 16 years old. I’m here for homicidal threats to my parents, teachers, and school mates, and having full intent of fulfilling my word.”

Logan had been there about a week and had told his story. Jake considered him most likely to become a serial killer not that other kids weren’t just as unstable but Logan felt no shame for his thoughts or actions. The others might someday explode inside, take a gun to the prom, and use it on some poor basturd, but they would not live with themselves afterwards.

They moved around the circle

“Cydney, 15, I’m bi-polar and ran away.”

“Jordan Depression.”

“Mike, 15 bullying and homicidal thoughts.”

“Jake, 16 I’m a drunk, a heroin addict a crack addict and who knows what else.”

“Dan, 14 suicide attempt.”

“Robert 14, drugs.”

“Kelly, I’m 14 and I woke up yesterday.”

“Do you remember coming?”

“No”

“You came here with a nasty hang over you attacked your dad too.”

“Ohh…” Kelly was less then satisfied by this explanation but just sank deeper in to the sofa.

“Next.”

“I’m Josephina-

“Speak up child.”

The girl sat up nervously glancing about no one was listening anymore “I’m Josephina, 13, suicide.”

“Riley, I’m 17, I wrote a book that was about serial killers, and such and my parents took it seriously.”

This is a weird place to stop but tell me what you think so far. I am going to go back and entirely rewrite it. Tell me if its even worth the trouble of finishing.