Narcan

      Background info: Ava is a drug addict with mild schizophrenia. She has difficulties differentiating hallucinations from actual people, thus she's writing a letter to someone... who could be a new hallucination or a real person in her life. And with Narcan reference, it's a drug given for opiate overdose. If given too quickly, it may cause cardiac dysrhymias, seizures, changes in blood pressure, etc... It may not be completely accurate or well-written, but it's just something I played around with. Enjoy.


      “You don’t know it, but right now is a critical time for me. A lot of things have happened and I am full of fears. I am like one of Pavlov’s conditioned dogs. I’m expecting the worst, not because of your type, but because of my past. I’m expecting to get hurt. I’m angry and anxious because of my expectations. I hate to say it, but there’s a good chance that you may have to prove yourself. Prove that you won’t be so quick to say I’m broken and toss me to the side. You need to convince me of that. And be patient and thick-skinned when it comes to persuading me. I am doubtful and angry inside. I won’t always believe you. I apologize for that. I don’t want to act this way, but I can and sometimes do. But it will be fine, my friend, it will be fine. You help me… and I’ll help you”.

      Ava scribbled the words onto the blue-lined sheet of paper in blue ballpoint pen. Her bare feet were wet with kisses from the dew-tipped carpet of the soft green summer grass. She was as far away from her house as she could get with the dim yellow suburban streetlight guiding her pen across the page. She sat far away from the house because she felt is was the only place she could think anything she wanted. It was the safe distance away from everyone else where she could ponder even the unacceptable. And she would.

      She dropped the pen to the ground and shut her eyes. She grasped her wrists: scars. She grasped the antecubital areas of her arms: scars. She hugged her small body, running her tiny fingers along her ribs. She was able to trace tiny pictures into the scars underneath her tight tank top. And she remembered.

      She remembered the pictures she couldn’t erase from her head. She remembered her old horrible habits. She remembered when they sewed her back together against her will when she cut herself apart and when they talked sense into her and she refused to listen. She remembered the feelings of the high… taking the drug as he told and floating away… she remembered he gave her the Narcan and she thought he’d killed her. It went too fast… she swore he’d killed her. But she hadn’t died. Just was put back together and talked sense into.

      Her head was bowed in reminisce with her dampened caramel hair grazing her cheeks. “Erase these things, already” she whispered to herself. And there was someone gently pushing her hair back. She didn’t know who it was… if they were real… or if it was just herself. And she wished not to know anymore. All she wished for was peace.