Split

by: elliott

“It- Its over” She sputtered her boyfriend had been cheating on Tracy. When he came home from work she could smell her on his breath, on his clothes, on his soul. When he was apart from Tracy she was broken- a part of her was fading away. Tracy felt she would die without him and if Tracy couldn’t have him then she would have no reason to go on. She rocked back and forth in her chair mumbling to herself wiping Tracy’s tears on her sleeve biting her tongue to keep from screaming in agony, as her soul was ripped apart. This was the end of Tracy’s life- it was all going to end in this room- this cheap shitty apartment that Tracy shook her tits and thrust her crotch into stranger’s faces every night for, the apartment where Tracy and her boyfriend had shot up and fucked for 6 hours straight, her boyfriend, her wonderful boyfriend who was probably screwing that bitch Jenny that worked with him.

“What does she have that Tracy doesn’t?” She thought.
Were her breasts not big enough?
Were her thighs not creamy enough?
Could she not satisfy him anymore?
She felt like vomiting.
She put her heard in her hands and moaned in despair.
“Shit, Tracy needs a fix,” She thought.

She stumbled into the washroom looking for some sort of drug, anything to get her through the pain she was experiencing. As soon as she looked in the mirror it was covered in vomit. Tracy didn’t care though. In fact she was pleased with herself
“Look at you Tracy!” She yelled “Tracy the vomit whore!”

She finally found a bottle of cough syrup that was left over from when she had a cold. Tracy chugged it back and felt her brain being taken over by the DXM. Tracy started seeing a lot of regular, brightly colored, red, 3-dimensional geometric patterns. They moved at terrifyingly fast speeds. The patterns struck her as her pain. This was followed by a period of time in which Tracy felt as though she was collapsing in upon herself and then exploding outwards in infinitude of directions/distances/times. There were moments when she felt herself approaching/merging with impossibly vast alien intelligences -- unfortunately, Tracy could not remember anything when she finally came down from her peak.

She still felt like shit.She sat down in front of the television and flipped through the channels. Nothing caught her eye so she turned it off. She sat staring at the blank screen losing herself in her scrambled thoughts. Her emotions swirled around in her head anger, fear, and despair. She gritted her teeth and stared at her surroundings secretly wanting to spontaneously combust into flames. There she sat on her chair seeing not colour but pure red as intense as the pits of hell. Her eyes were bloodshot and her fingers trembled Tracy needed heroin; Tracy was a slave to it. If only she could shoot up now all her troubles would disappear like a carpet bomb, wiping her thoughts clean. Her boyfriend always knew where to score. Tracy had forgotten he wasn’t coming back.

“He- he- he’s not coming back.” She realized.
“Fuck it then.”

She ran into the bathroom and swallowed every single pill she could find. “Won’t they be surprised when they find Tracy dead” she thought to herself.

“Probably not! Tracy is a worthless junkie whore!” She laughed.

Tracy wouldn’t even make it into the paper. Nobody would care. Tracy will just rot in her chair. It didn’t matter, nothing matters when all you have to live for is the next time you stick a spike in your arm. She smiled. She closed her eyes and waited for the drugs to take effect. She hoped Tracy would die in her sleep; she had enough pain in her life to deal with as it was.
She woke up in the morning, coughing up vomit- sputtering and choking on her greasy hair.

“Tracy’s not here anymore- Tracy’s gone, Tracy doesn’t exist”

It was finally over Tracy had died. She got up and walked out of the dingy hotel room.

Tracy had died in that dingy apartment building but she was still alive. No more cravings, no more urges, she was ready- ready to go back home.