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The body lay there, trapped, like a figure embedded beneath layers of ice. John was shivering, cold, almost frozen. All that he could focus on was the unbearable pain that was raging through every inch of his body. He was tightly strapped to the bed, the leather straps around his arms and legs denying his attempt for bodily movement. The young man's face was so pale that it almost matched the ghost-white spreadsheet of the bed. Having just woken from his sleep, John lay staring at the ceiling. His head was throbbing with the vivid mental scars of the time when he lived day-by-day, 'surviving' from one hit to the next. John was only fifteen when he was peer-pressured into trying what was known then as 'smack', more commonly known now as 'off topic drug'. He didn't realise then, at that point in time, at that party, on that day, in that hour, that he would stop living on earth and fall into the recesses of hell.

Before he could pause and take stock of his situation, John started to commit serious offences in order to fund his addiction. His family could not grasp the fact that their son, an A grade student with close friends, had become acquainted with the devil's advocate. Questions started to race through the family's mind: "What have we done?", "Is it our fault?", "Have we been putting too much pressure on him?" The reality, however, was that the problem's roots were firmly planted in John.

Suddenly John broke out in patches of sweat. His fingers were trembling, struggling to break free of his captivity. Tears rushed down his thin, boney cheeks and his heart was beating rapidly. He couldn't handle the disturbing thoughts that were pacing through his mind; he couldn't see himself...