Hothouse Lizzards Part 1 by D G Williford Voodoo, New Orleans, Spanish Moss, etc... all the things that everyone wants to read a... [2,641 words]
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Heaven Or Hell by B C Mercer A Reverend encounters events he never dreamed would happen to him and his family. He questions ... [5,708 words]
Destiny's Fate by B C Mercer An inspirational revelation of two young lovers in a foreign land. [1,699 words]
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A Crown Hath Promised by Keri McGriff - [156 words]
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The tale of a troubled and depressed young man.
B C Mercer
I am a college student pursuing a career in creative writing. Short stories, poetry, songs, it doesn't matter what it is, just as long as I'm writing.
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (16)
A Mother's Magic (Poetry) - [9 words]
Destiny's Fate (Short Stories) An inspirational revelation of two young lovers in a foreign land. [1,699 words]
Determination (Poetry) - [220 words]
Dilemma (Poetry) - [134 words]
Emotional Rollercoaster (Poetry) - [267 words]
Heaven Or Hell (Short Stories) A Reverend encounters events he never dreamed would happen to him and his family. He questions his faith and comes to the conclusion of whether serving God and Jesus is the path he is suppossed to fo... [5,708 words]
How Do You Feel? (Poetry) - [142 words]
Little Black Dress (Songs) - [202 words]
Moksha (Poetry) A spiritual poem. [170 words] [Spiritual]
Mr. Smith (Plays) An inspirational story of the accounts of a working class man. He enters the elevator early one morning where he will meet four strangers that will change his life forever. [2,245 words]
Now And Then (Poetry) - [185 words]
Oceanic Orchestra (Poetry) - [12 words]
Southern Beauty (Poetry) Haiku of my home-state, North Carolina. No it's not an advertisement as mentioned in the review at the bottom. I love the great state of North Carolina, what can I say? It's a HAIKU - of course it'... [7 words]
Spiritual Embrace (Poetry) - [11 words]
The Entrance (Poetry) A sonnet. [90 words]
Writer's Passion (Poetry) - [10 words]
B C Mercer
“Billy, come on down. Everyone is waiting.”
My mother’s stentorian voice has pierced my soul for the last time.
Staring at thousands of miniscule protrusions on the ceiling, like stars in the sky, my will to live faded with every dot I counted. At twenty-three years of age, my greatest accomplishment is counting four thousand seven hundred thirteen of these diminutive blotches above my head. How I long to be a fragment of foam bonded to someone’s ceiling. Hanging there day and night, year after year, observing your inhabitant’s journey through life. Not a care in the world. No worries about work, family, girls, or GPA. Pure ecstasy.
My luck could never achieve this magnitude. I am manic depressive and suffer from routine panic and anxiety attacks. My bloodstream is constantly polluted with chemicals whose purposes have long since come to a screeching halt. Prozac, Zoloft, Wellbutrin, and most all mainstream antidepressant, antianxiety medications are no match for the Great Wall of Immunity my body has constructed. What has happened to me?
At age eighteen, coming out of high school, I was a good-looking, muscular, and happy kid. I was captain of the basketball team and senior class president. I had a fiancé that was good to me. My family was proud. I had a full scholarship for college. I did not believe my life could get any better.
Moving away from home for the first time was both the most highly anticipated and feared moment of my life. Three thousand miles away, I was not accessible for weekend trips back home. From the small town of Monroe, North Carolina and Sun Valley High School, to the big city of Los Angeles, California and UCLA, it was a grueling adjustment. This must have been the apex of my sanity. The downward slope was looking steep and icy.
I had no friends yet, so when I arrived at school I kept to myself. My roommate was so preoccupied with his mission of locating the source of contraband substances that we did not converse until our third day on campus. I missed home.
Vince, my roommate, turned out to be quite the character and quite the pharmacist as well. About three weeks into the term I was getting anxious and could not concentrate on studying. I had an exam approaching that I could not afford to bomb. Vince sets a little blue pill on my desk and says, “Take this and I guarantee you ace that exam.” I laughed. What was I supposed to do? I laughed hard. It was the first time I had cracked a smile in days. I assumed it couldn’t hurt, so I dry-swallowed Vince’s brain power.
Twenty minutes later Vince and I were having the time of our lives. Dancing and singing in our dorm room. We released all the stress that had built up inside of us these first few weeks on campus. Two hours later, when the effects began to fade, I was cool, calm, and laid-back. I could actually study. I felt great.
The next week I aced my exam as Vince had guaranteed. I had no idea what he gave me but it worked. Vince turned me into a new person. I no longer worried about my fiancé back home, how I was going to play once basketball season started, or what marks I would receive for the term. I was displaying the characteristics of that piece of foam. I was living for the first time in my life.
Eventually, Vince and I stopped going to class completely. We slept all day and partied all night. With my extra scholarship money and the checks Mom and Dad were sending every week I became Vince’s partner. We were natural entrepreneurs. We had employees; three freshman to answer our phones while we slept. We were making money, friends, and a name for ourselves. And I thought my life couldn’t get any better!
Vince and I were on our way home from a football game one evening when we were stopped by a police officer in front of our building. Lights were flashing everywhere and sirens blaring. People were scrambling around screaming. We didn’t know what to think and didn’t take it seriously. The officer sat us down on a bench under a large oak tree that shaded the emergency and street lights from us. He told us that a young boy had overdosed on prescription drugs. He asked if we would come with him for some questioning. We obliged.
Upon arrival at the police station we were greeted by an unruly mob of our peers. Apparently, someone brought their little brother up to school with them for the weekend to get a taste of the college-life. They obviously didn’t watch out for him very well and he was pressured into ingesting over thirty pills of Xanax. The trail obviously led back to Vince and me. We were charged with involuntary manslaughter, illegally possessing prescription drugs, and illegal sale of prescription drugs. If it were not for our parents and their money, we would have been incarcerated for a long stretch of time. We were released after seventy-hours with three years probation. UCLA expelled both of us the next day. Vince and I went our separate ways. I never saw him again. Apparently my life couldn’t get any better.
Now the question was could my life get any worse? Yes. The story of the teenage boy made national headlines, along with the photograph of Vince and me handcuffed. In a small town, news travels fast. My parents most likely had messages on their answering machine before I was even charged. My reputation of being a model student and pillar of my community was shattered. I was the murdering drug dealer. The only person to stick by my side through everything was my fiancé. She didn’t care what was happening around us. She even said she was happy; I was home after all. In her eyes, she knew I would never intentionally hurt someone. She was the only one to realize that.
For the months after, I was ridiculed by everyone from family members, friends, and strangers that would just recognize my face. I did not maliciously mutilate anyone. I did not rape anybody. It was not even my fault. It was an act of hazing that no one could recognize. It was just easier to pin it on the ones who sold the drugs. I accepted my punishment and walked away from it. It was the only option. I returned home to people I thought were dear to me. I thought they would be comforting and understanding to someone with a problem. Wait. Do I have a problem?
The road to recovery. I had to change, again. I recognized my problem on my own. Isn’t it funny that after all I went through; no one ever asked me what was going on in my life? What made you start using drugs? I had the drive to clean myself up though. I went to the doctor and this is when I was prescribed my antidepressant and antianxiety medications.
I took my medications on time everyday. I was feeling better about myself with every waking moment. The “cleansing drugs,” as I called them, may actually provide me with some stability in my life again. Inadvertently, however, I was becoming dependant on these drugs. “If it’s not one thing it’s another.”
I was finally hired by a local grocery store to bag groceries every afternoon. No one wanted the felon working for them. So I settled with my mediocre employment. It was a start. My “cleansing drugs” were keeping me in a positive state of mind. I was happy to go to work everyday, I was delighted to help the elderly people load their groceries into their cars, and I was grateful, everyday, for my second chance in life. The only setback was that I had another problem to endure. The medications began to lose their effect. I was walking with my head down once again and losing my newfound self-esteem. I hit that steep, icy, and rocky downfall for the last time.
This brings us up to date. I’ve been lying here in my bed, alone, for nine hours. Four thousand seven hundred eleven, four thousand seven hundred twelve, and four thousand seven hundred thirteen. My despondent and unresponsive conscience is torpidly shutting down. How I yearn for two blue beauties and a tall glass of ice water. Happy birthday to me.
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© 2002 B C Mercer
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