Hasty steps were heard in the dark streets of Jacksonville. A man—maybe still a boy wearing his hoodie high passed through. That was Jackson. He finally arrived at the entrance of the nearby alley, taking care to not step into any puddle. Trashbags, rats, some rotten burgers on the ground — all the trash thrown here daily flooded the ground. Jackson quickly walked through, startling the rats there. Pinching his own nose all the meanwhile, he arrived at a dark wooden door besides the wall. Three knocks.
Three. Hah…
Enough, right?
He entered without further caution. Taking a plastic bag from his pocket, the man quickly held it showing to whoever was there. Inside, a white powder, together with some small sacks containing even more of it.
Taking a deep breath — now not anymore on this filthy alley, he spoke. "Someone? I brought three of the stuff, weird that they charged me only fifty dollars, right–"
The hooded boy stopped when he saw no one was there. Well, there were some traces, still. A half gulped water bottle, a cake half eaten on the table and, of course, some white stuff there. Sprawled around the floor, the white powder mixed with the sweat and dirt on the ground.
The senile hallion did not waste some coca, never did…
Jackson wandered through the room. A weed stink permeated through it entirely, but someone like him had to be used to it. Reaching deeper into their rented shack, he passed by a mirror. Dirt covered it, but still reflected.
Must be the fine craft of a god.
Jackson smirked while looking at himself, his hands reaching the hoodie as he lowered it. Pale skin, a thin nose and tousled, but shiny long hair. His eyes had nothing too flashy, but a certain commonness had to be there. How would the sexual market be fair with such a dashing man as him in this world?
Okay, the thirty seconds of daily appraisal are over — Jackson thought. No wonder he put that limit. He could be the entire day going on seeing himself, but work had to be done, drugs to deliver.
As always.
He dived deeper into their "nest". Clothes were fuzzled over the room. Half-extinct cigars brushed the floor, ashes of recently burned weed.
He wondered the reason for all this hurry. They left it not long ago, and did not even warn him about whatever it was.
Thinking about it now, they have been quite quiet since morning.
A crazy, but valid thought passed on his head, but maybe it was too late.
Rushing to the door, he stepped out quickly, not caring for whatever was on that dirt ground. He heard squeaking rats, trash being torn apart — or being eaten, rather. Among them all: that very one fateful sound. Sirens. Not from the fireman. Sweat — maybe water coming from the rain dripped from his forehead.
I'm fucked.
"You there!" A voice boomed from out of the dark as he left the alley. Three police cars, three cops in each one.
He gulped down. Raising his arms slowly, Jackson came to a total halt when hearing a gun click.
"Not another step!" The blond one said. Rain ran down, birds chirped above from the dark sky. "We heard some drug dealers are living here. Stateyour purpose, citizen."
Huh?
Colors shifted… his vision was blurred. The world suddenly looked more…silly, colorful.
What the fuck is this?
In his vision, everything was seemingly melting. A thought drifted through his crumbling mind. That fucking bald skinny, one of the new sellers. A gratuity of them, he said, giving Jackson one of their cocaine gums which he was forced to eat. He didn't expect it to be so strong, since there was no immediate effect. Maybe some other weird stuff they put in? Or just his inexperience with drugs? Who knows, who cares? It was the end line for him.
With a sandy thud, the plastic bag filled with cocaine fell to the ground.
Damn. How am I going to get a last sniff now?
Jackson crouched, his mind running at a slower pace than the normal, shifting colors playing with his vision.
"I warned you!" A click, followed by a high pitched noise and a white flash. Jackson could only hear a sick crunch inside him, blood spitting like a fountain from his head, together with some bone pieces, and a viscous grey thing.
With a muffled thud, he fell, his broken head brushing against the ground.
Oh no! My face is damaged! Damn these envy-
the purple sky, green concrete floor and flowers growing everywhere disappeared. Not giving a chance for Jackson to praise his own appearance a last time, even while drugged, everything vanished.
Jackson felt himself…out of himself. Being dragged somewhere else, he was in a Void of everything, but nothing. Even though he could not see, Jackson could, very clearly, feel the colors. Or rather, a damn piece cake of everything. From smells to images, his consciousness felt shaken with information. Then, he remembered the pain just a few — or…many, moments ago.
Sigh… he expected the outcome. Not so…early, of course, but expected a shit death. Surprisingly, it was caused by cops, not another vengeful gang.
His mind came back to old memories of childhood. Pain, frustration and fear.
He wondered…was that piece of shit, already dead? Who knows. He tried making some money, networks, everything to track him, to know if he was already dead. If not — he would make sure of that. A hot, boiling feeling started to grow inside his mind, but a lethargy struck first.
His thoughts, of unfathomable speed, started to slow down. The senses disappeared, replaced by the not cold nor warm void.
At least, he could still fill it with the familiar feeling he lived with.
I hate you. I hate that place…please, if hell exists, take me there. Just so I can make sure of his pain.
Soft…
A man — Jackson, that was his name, he recalled. Jackson grunted with laziness as he opened his eyes. Neither too long, nor too short to feel the earth beneath, Jackson laid on the grass.
He grunted in protest to stand. Rubbing his eyes, Jackson looked ahead, gusts of wind bringing a faint smell of cinnamon towards his nostrils. The landscape was nothing more than a gorgeous paradise. Plains of short grass, a shining sun vibrating high atop the almost-clear sky, where wisps of cloud threads welcomed the new, tarnished soul. Jackson was there — in the middle of everything, not a single building standing tall in any direction.
That's…how did I even get here?
Jackson slapped himself. Both an attempt of waking up — and of refraining from comparing the landscape beauty with his own divine, magnificent and stunning appearance. A signal he was not drugged, at least not now.
Again, he rubbed his eyes. Barely able to remember something — his memories were too blurred, his mind still shaken. Turning, Jackson tried to find something, somewhere a person could be. Ahead was a higher plain, covered by golden light rays of the sun. At its top stood a building access door to the roof — or ground, in this case. No more than one kilometer away; he already got himself moving, but questions and wonders were still there, deep inside his mind.
Right. Now, just what the fuck is this place? How did I get here? That was the first— or first two questions. Contemplating the orange sky, Jackson checked himself. No visible mark of a syringe or anything that might have drugged him. No wound, no serious migraine or headache at the moment.
Something snapped at Jackson's mind at that moment. Looking inside his pockets, both of the jeans and the hood, found no remains of the stuff. Either someone took it from him, or maybe he lost it-
His eyes widened, memories of the last night coming back to haunt his fragile mind. Rage came — before fear of these lands.
Shit. Shit, shit shit! No. Breathe.
He slowed the pace, catching a moment to get the fresh, untarnished air of this place.
Yes, that's right. I died that night.
Jackson recalled the damn headshot — his skull splitting in two and giving way to a sea of blood and grey matter. He tried calming down, the drugs didn't matter anymore. He just had to survive, to find someone in this new place.
Noticing the sun sinking visibly faster than normal — even unnervingly so, he paid no attention and started sprinting towards the only building.
Trained from being a successful purse snatcher — and maybe some beatings he took meanwhile, Jackson was no beginner in running for long periods of time.
I'd never expect hell to be like this…
He eyed the place. This was his…afterlife? Not bad, not bad.
He achieved it. Panting, Jackson was in front of the only building, in at least the range of his view. Even being a professional pickpocketer while in life, this single high plain claimed most of his energy to climb, barely anything to spare.
Now, about it. Jackson was intrigued by its commonness, a single access door to Satan-knows-where, in the middle of a desert of plains. Approaching slowly, he carefully pulled the doorkob.
Woa! —Jackson gasped briefly as the door gave in with surprising ease. As if recently greased, Jackson almost slipped before holding himself on the walls inside. What was there? Stairs leading down, of course. Who could guess?