No Light by Stephen Schlatter The darkness plays with my eyes, then the light. Colors strobe through the lens, flashing and pulsing with the music. Sweat pummels the floor, alongside bright yellow shoes and bare feet. Neon shirts, blue dyed hair, and glow sticks bounce up and down in rhythm. “We have one more pill,” you tell me. “I don’t have money to get more, we have to split it, lets go to the bathroom.” The door locked, the razor blade slices through the center of the purple powder disc. You snort your half, I swallow mine and return to the floor. After an hour the high starts to fade. I head over to you, “What can we get?” I remind, “We ain’t got shit. Get some, I’ll front.” You take the bill and a half hour later pull me back, pry the bag out of your pocket, and throw me a smirk. “Check this shit.” The white powder spread across the counter is “the best,” I am told. “This is your chance to try the good shit.” A lump in my throat, I look away, and decline. “The only difference between this shit and the other shit is in your mind,” you say. “Don’t get high and mighty on me now.” You hand me the straw. Sin never tasted so sweet in the back of my throat. The darkness plays with my eyes, then the night. There is no light. theMeadow 25
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