Prisoners of War - Chapter 25

Essay by spoonman419 August 2004

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Mike peered through the window of his car, using his hands to cover his eyes from the sun. He sighed seeing his bag was still there, and fumbling with his keys quickly got in and drove away.

He pushed the bag down off of the seat in an attempt to hide it, since the streets were so crowded, and as he stopped at a red light suddenly felt his pills taking effect. The pleasant numbness he had felt this past week returned as any paranoia about the drugs sitting next to him disappeared and a goofy grin spread across his face.

He could have sat there all day, but the sound of a blaring horn shook him from his trance as the light turned green, and trying to gather his composure, he slowly turned the corner and parked the best he could.

He gave out a yawn and stretched, not even registering his back as being there anymore-never mind hurting-and closed his eyes, his head sort of slumping down on his chest.

Flashbacks of the small moments of time when he was conscious in the hospital and aware of the feelings flew back as the drug continued to grow in intensity, and he wondered how he could possibly sleep through something so amazing.

Time passed as he sat there, he didn't even bother to look at the clock to see by how much. It didn't matter-in fact nothing mattered anymore, not the drugs sitting next to him, or the fact he might not have a place to live anymore, or even that this big mysterious drug lord specifically wanted him to do his bidding.

The cars passing him must have thought he was passed out, or worse, but he payed them no mind, his cell phone began to ring and...