Streetlights illuminate a lonely broken road. The cracks in the sidewalk create a sign for me. A sign that I must keep going or I will die.
Snow is sticking to the ground as I walk barefoot through these streets. It’s been snowing in late evening and now during the night it is turning to ice as the temperature begins to descend below freezing temperatures. The full moon shines down on me like a spotlight on stage. During the night it is a battle to stay alive. A whole new world emerges from the deep depths of the darkness. Scummy humans live in the darkness where I belong. I can’t trust anybody not even myself.

The drug dealers stand like predators on the prowl, just ready to pounce on the helpless low lives such as myself. They maliciously grin at me as I dart by avoiding their over powering glare. Only two years ago, I stood on the same street playing the same game; dealing drugs to stay alive.

Drugs relieve my hollow pain of being empty. Just for a few moments, I feel better about myself. It feels too good until my own reality sinks in that I am alone. I was only seventeen years old when I had my first fix. It was late after school, the dismissal bell rung and students scurry to the busses and their cars. My buddy, Pete, a senior told me to meet him at his house at midnight. When the time came, I walked down the street to the last house on the right. The outside light flickered once to direct me in. Slowly I opened the door to see, Pete rolling up a twenty-dollar bill and the two other seniors from my school snorting crack. I shut the door behind me. All these different emotions took over my body when I took a deep breath of crack. I felt out of this world. I didn’t care about anything or anyone. All I wanted was my one and only new love crack. Looking back on it now, being almost a year sober, I wish I would have never touched it. Every second, my body craves for this drug. I get this impulsive shock over my body to taste crack. I hate it.

The streets are looking familiar to me as I walk farther and farther down this path. I’m getting closer and closer. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, it reminds me of home. I miss my family. As I walk by in front of a house I see a broken baby doll lying in an open trash bag. Its typical long blonde hair was cut to a pixie cut. The burns charred the plastic of the dolls body. The clothes were ripped and torn. My little sister Lucy used to have a similar doll. I think she would be eight years old last week. She probably doesn’t remember the scum of a brother that I was to her. Countless times, I forgot to pick her up from school because I was too busy getting high with Pete. She begged and begged for me to have a tea party with her but I ignored her and stayed locked up in my room.

I can still remember bits and pieces of the first time that my mother caught me smoking crack. Her eyes flamed with anger. Some words were said between us but I felt so angry towards her for no reason. I could feel my fists clinching together. I hit her across the face. My anger subdued. My mom was lying on the ground with terror written all across her face. I looked at her and turned around to run out of the house. I just kept running far away from the house. Nothing was going through my head, not even the thought of crack. Collapsing I fell to the cold wet mud of the ground in the fetal position and I started to cry.
Night fall was coming and slowly I made my way back to the house. All the lights were turned off. No one was home. All the stuff in my room was entirely gone. On the door there was a blue sticky note “We are kicking you out of the house, because you chose the life of drugs. May God be with you?” At the bottom of the stairs, a small cardboard box contained a few of my items. I took the stuff and from that day on I was gone.
I don’t know how I made it to two years living on the streets. I don’t even know how I am still alive or if I am alive. Everything is all clear to me now. I’m down the street from my old house. The brick house still looks the same but faded. Mom’s Happy Family sign is still posted right in the front of the house. They changed the mailbox though from a red to white. As I move closer and closer to the house, I can see that the window is wide open to the living room. My dad still looks the same as always except for a few stray of gray hairs. He is sitting on the couch beside my mother. Mom looks a bit bigger but healthy. Her hair is very short and it’s brown instead of blonde. Lucy looks more mature. Her hair is long. She looks happy. They all look happy without me. I can see Lucy giggling to dads jokes even though I can’t hear them. Mom is smiling towards dad. I’m standing in the dark in front of them. I know they can’t see me. The anger starts to fill up inside of me again. This anger is hatred. I changed for them. I want them to take me back. They don’t want me. They are fine without me. They have completely moved on from me. I picked up a sharp rock and threw it through the window with all my might. I heard them shriek in terror. Dad ran to get his shotgun. I ruined their happiness. I turned away from the house and I started to run.