Wired...

A sci fi short story

Wired...

Lost in thought, feeling so wired… this incredible high from the amphetamines is so powerful. Many call it an addiction, however, he has discovered it goes beyond that. This is a way of life. Everything is better when he is wired; he feels stronger, he feels more confident. Being wired is a way of life and in this dog eat dog world we live in every little edge helps. The amphetamines helped him through a very dark time when he refused to eat, or sleep, or screw. He feels like life has been drained from him, as if the visiting succubus has decided to do away with him for good. But he survived this time, with a little help from his friends. 

Unfortunately, it brought a lot of negative attention, some rats at work decided to snitch a little and force a “random drug test.” Naturally, he got wired, chased them down in a parking lot with a baseball bat, and smashed the front window of their antique Cadillac. This was a month ago, they don’t exchange words any more, and quite frankly he doesn’t give a damn. The only thing that is important is to be wired.

Today he sits at his desk, nervously tapping. The boss is on the prowl, looking for someone to tear into, which is why he is trying to keep his head down. Wait to leave and get a kick. He feels this uncontrollable urge, is this addiction? He laughs at the irony; he always tells his so called friends that he is good, that addiction is not within his genetic markers. That is truly the only way out of things. If the trait is not within your genetics you're good, never will you be susceptible and you will always fly under the radar... (unfortunately he is susceptible to sex addiction). 

He waits, he is now  craving to be wired and the day is such shit that only when he is wired does he feel like he can make it through the rest of this day. He keeps waiting to feel the sweet embrace of the high he wants, the rush that comes with it. The day, however, is at a crawl, and his boss continues to prowl around trying to scowl and looks terribly menacing. However, he knows it is just a front, deep down inside the man is probably a junkie, who is waiting out his day wanting to feel wired as well. The whole thing is probably nothing more than an absurd tough guy act. Now he can’t stand it anymore, and he begins to pace around his desk, his colleagues sit around him looking slightly amused as if they have never seen a grown man paced. He continues to do this his muscles almost doing so in an involuntary manner it is as if he is being propelled without having any control. 

He now breaks into a run, heading to the exit. Nobody says a word, but he can feel them looking, laughing, pointing. He runs down what seems to be a never ending stair case, the urge to keep running surging through him. He is now outside the building. The air smells sickly sweet, but it is invigorating, he is surrounded by a buzzing city, but all he could think about is the sweet emptiness. People continue to stare at him as he keeps running with some purpose but his mind is blocking everything else out. He runs for what seems to be days, months, even years. He runs back through time at some point, back to the beginning around him. The world around him seems so beautiful... and he is lost in a tremendous amount of thought, but still his body does not stop moving, it can not stop moving no matter how hard he tries to make it stop. There is something that makes him need to continue, a sort of hunger that is very difficult to cure. You see when one is wired, one can do anything be anything, and there is nothing in the world, galaxy, or universe that quite frankly compares to that feeling the extreme rush. He finds himself in an unfamiliar place, the world around him does not look very familiar, something about the smell and the colors makes it seems off. He finally comes to a halt, and he seems to be taken aback. Suddenly the world around him is a vibrant explosion of colors; he does not understand nor can he make sense of any of it but something about it seems right. Now before him sits a figure on a rock, quiet and in a state of deep meditation. The strange figure has a secret knowing smile on its face, it looks at him deeply and in understanding. It begins to study him, a very unnerving feeling but at the same time, he feels like the figure means him no harm.

“Alas, another one comes in search of the truth..”

It speaks in a very strange tone, almost a sing-song; the was able to understand the words that come out of its mouth.

"It is ok, so many of us who have gone searching have not yet found what we are looking for.”

He approaches the figure, it looks like it could be a man but there are soft qualities that can also make it a woman the best description could be androgynous as if gender means nothing to it.

“Where am I?”

The question comes surprisingly out of his mouth; it is not a question he would ever ask but or some reason he asked it anyhow.

The figure then simply smiles and looks at him, a mixture of curiousness and pity.

“You know very well where you are, it is the place you often go; it is the place beyond the dirty hands of society where you can be yourself and be who you are, wearing a mask grows tiresome. Pretending to be searching for a drug? It's tiresome, you say that you want to be wired? But what the hell is wired? What exactly gives you that feeling?”

The words it speaks are ambiguous but deep inside his mind he understands them loud and clear. He truly has been fooling himself, trying to be a part of a world that he does not belong to, putting on the skin on a daily basis, it is painful as it is bound to his shape. Pretending to be human is sucking the life out of him… this is all it is… he is back home, and this is nothing more than an intervention.

“You understand me brother; you are back home… they are a race of savages and there is nothing more than we can do for them...”

He tries to hold back tears and starts to savagely rip the “human flesh off his form” finally revealing underneath the multicolored radiant glow. He tears away the flesh from his face suddenly revealing a humanoid figure but one with deformed bumps and spikes across his face.

The figure continues to look at him satisfied by his actions finally happy.

“There you go, liberate yourself from your prison of flesh, and return once more to the world which created you… Leave them to their own petty devices and realize that there is nothing further you can do.”

Now back in his body, he feels he has been made whole again, the strange insatiable craving which plagued him had finally vanished. He has now found his peace.