|The Tunnel on the Edge of Heaven (standard:science fiction, 1021 words)|
|Author: Nathaniel MIller||Added: Feb 03 2020||Views/Reads: 88/36||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A young man is killed on the streets of NYC after a bad drug deal, ending up wandering between heaven and hell for Eternity.|
The Tunnel on the Edge of Heaven: By N.A Miller A young man walks alone in the darkness, in solitude, alone and confused. This tunnel had been going on for a while now, and as he walks toward the light on the far end, that he continually pauses, turning to glace in the direction he had come. He had no direction, or knowledge of where he was going. Despite that, he did not remember why and how he got here in the first place. He did not remember why he had come here, and what had happened to him. There is no pain, nor sensation, or sound. The tunnel is dark on both sides, and he eyes barely focused on the smooth interior of it. The young man is tall, despite he is in his mid twenties and has brown hair, pale skin and gray eyes. He is clad in jeans, sneakers and wears a blue pull over shirt over the top of the white shirt. No one had noticed him as he had lay in the alley, track marks from the needles he used on his arms from drugs. Until his body lay there for three days, as no one helped him in the alley in the middle of New York City. Now he was lost and wondered where he was going. "Shit, this tunnel is long." The young man thought, and he considered for a moment if he should pick up his pace. However, again he paused and peered to the tunnel behind him, also considering retreating in the direction he had come. In the alley in New York, he met with a black man in a dark shirt, pants and a knit cap. He had a tattoo on his forearm and an earring in his left ear. He stood in front of his Cadillac as he grimaced at the young white boy who approached him, his customer who still owed him money. He was a drug dealer, and the young man named Justin had been hooked in his drugs. "Hey bro.. You got the shit?" He said, greeting the black man, and the middle-aged man who stood there, nodded. "You got the rest of my money?" He asked and the young man nervously glanced to the surroundings, at the graffiti laden walls and trash-ridden alley from which he had entered, to get his fix. "Yeah man..." Justin replied, handing him the envelope, and the black man turned as he opened it, peering at the wad of cash that was in it. He pulled a baggy out of his pocket and in it was a large syringe, filled with a purple, almost black liquid. "Come on man..." the young man whined, "I need my fix, I am starting to get the shakes." Putting out his large, gloved hand, the black man held the syringe in his hand. Here, the white boy had snatched it, turning to head to the darker part of the alley. He had not thanked the man in the Cadillac, and the man muttered a curse at him before he turned to get in the car, driving off top the main street nearby. Justin sat next to a large dumpster as he pulled a large rubber band from his pocket, and he tied it around his arm. He saw the veins pop in his arms, already marked from multiple sticks of other syringes in his arm. He slapped his arm several times before he winced in pain as he inserted the needle. With his thumb, Justin pushed the drugs into his vein. He felt a flush in his entire body, a warm flash like an sexual orgasm overwhelmed his senses, he released the band and he slumped toward the wall of the alley. However, something was wrong, and he felt pain in his chest, becoming light headed, and he collapsed, face first into the pavement. Justin gasped for breath, trying to call out for help, putting up his hand but it fell onto the pavement. The young man did not move. Now he remembered, and he grimaced to realize the black man had double-crossed him, giving him bad drugs. He had died in the streets of New York. Click here to read the rest of this story (43 more lines)
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