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From Dundee to Nirvana

October 01 2024
© Chris Bird © Chris Bird

A short story by Chris Bird

When the syringe penetrated the arm the surface of the skin reddened. The pale skin became irrelevant soon enough. The hit began from a sensation of warmth and accelerated in a gleaming burst of ecstasy.

I fell back onto the mattress, which seemed more comfortable than any expensive hotel bed. The sensation was an amazingly intense mixture of comfort, security and pleasure.

Yet as soon as the core of the pleasure settled, it seemed to diminish and the glow of good feeling became remote. A desire to vomit filled me and my hands trembled. Sweat rushed onto my forehead. The inside of the tent was like a ramshackle womb that l hid in.

The moment of ecstasy was over. The nausea faded away gradually. Outside l heard Clare coughing and humming to herself. Her Glasgow accent always retained an improbable element of hope.

“Wanna fag big man?” she asked me.

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