Serial no.5 Stadium Romping

The diamonds crushed easily under the pressure of Gayle’s bank card. The value of drug crushed onto the tape case was more than the amount in said card. She smashed them until they turned to snowflake white powder, the scent of the methamphetamine filled the cramped bathroom. Gayle didn’t notice the stains on the walls, or the shop keeper banging on the door. All she saw was the way the chemicals fell into a perfect line, like soldiers ready to march up her nostrils to her brainstem and bring her euphoria.

“I’m calling the cops,” the angered storekeeper hollered from behind the locked bathroom door. She didn’t care, Gayle had many run-ins with them. They don’t do much. It was better this way, get all the drugs in her system, and they won’t dispose of her meth again. The banging on the spray-painted door stopped, she ran her rail straight up her nose to her brain.

The lights grew brighter, the painted wall colors more vibrant. Gayle’s hands shook with anticipation until she put the straw to the drug. Inhaled deeply and left the store. Ignoring the angry yells from the newly arrived manager.

“You’ll never be allowed back,” he hollered. It didn’t phase her, the clouds in the sky parted, and Gayle’s high crept up. Everything became more colorful, more bright and more beautiful. Hunger didn’t bother her, sleep depravation was nothing. Gayle pushed the happy green hand at the stop light and waited. The sound of a diesel engine grew to her right. She turned and -bang- the buildings were gone, the trees, people everything has gone.

She suddenly found herself standing in the center of a stadium. The chairs above her were empty, and the green turf before her was damp. Moans echoed through the arena, and Gayle spotted four mounds on the far end.

She made her way to them, and as the moans increased in intensity, so did the people’s outlines in front of her.

They were naked, and they were fucking. Four singular couples. Gayle had been living on the streets so long, she’d forgotten what intimacy felt like. She hadn’t had an innocent roll in the hay with any male in a very long time. Love, affection, closeness; they were all gone.

In the end, drugs won, and once the meth was there. Nothing else mattered.

Now, watching the feminity sweat mix with masculine hormones, Gayle suddenly felt jealous. The intricate movements of the couples were erotic and passed their passions through the air to Gayle.

Her first impulse was to turn and leave them. This was private, she never questioned the fact she had suddenly found herself standing in an empty stadium watching fornication. She only wondered whether or not they knew she was there. Watching like a stalker in the closet.

Without a word, she drew closer. Intrigued by the motions of the muscular men. The couples all appeared to be in their mid-forties but well fit and beautiful. The women, naked faced and wonderfully exotic, all seemed to share the same hair color. One man was drawing circles on his woman’s love with his tongue. His body was tattooed, chiseled, and thrusting in the air to her eroticism. He was being turned on by licking this woman. She was bucking and screaming.

Gayle suddenly felt embarrassed, that moment was too much for her to watch. Her embarrassment shed as she turned away. It morphed into sadness, she truly wanted someone to hold her that passionately.

Her thoughts were louder than her footsteps as she left the center stage. She had seen enough of the show and wanted to get out. She walked to the door, soft moaning fading behind her until it was near indiscernible.

The lights dimmed, and when Gayle turned back, the images blurred and ghosted to the ceiling like city lights in the night sky. She blinked trying to shake away the melting scene. The walls sunk until all that was left was the darkness of the ceiling. Footprints pushed through the ceiling until they nearly touched her head.

She slammed to the floor; her knees stung from the impact, but Gayle could stay make out the exit. She crawled while angry footsteps grew louder in her ears. Drowning out her crying, even as her tears dampened the cold concrete below her. A creak and smash as the feet became more intense in their movements, crashing through the ceiling, and materializing into jerky moving black outlined creatures behind her. Beside her and in front of her.

“No!” she screamed and curled into herself, shutting her eyes tightly just as their hands broke free and grabbed onto her.

She opened her eyes, the life-saving adrenaline still dripping from the needle as the doctor stepped back. The hospital lights stung her eyes, the doctor’s mouth moved, but she heard nothing except murmurs. Gayle wished desperately her mother was there, holding her hand. When she looked down at her arm, the self-induced scabs were caked in a white paste. Her legs were thin and showed every bone. A large Asian woman entered the room. Her eyes bright, and she didn’t flinch when she put her hand on Gayle’s gnarly arm. Her hair was pulled up to an-almost-too-high-pony-tail, and her cheeks were soft pink without makeup. Her voice was that of an angel, “are you ready to get treatment?”

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