HIghway to the End

Author's Note: I wrote this as a one shot a couple of years ago and decided to clean it up and turn it into a ficlet. There'll be probably around 5 chapters or so, don't really know as of yet. Enjoy! All feedback welcome :] except I don't really appreciate those "this is crap." I would appreciate "you need to work on this blah blah blah" though! so basically: flamers, no thank you! constructive criticism, yes please! then of course, you don't have to review :]





“Stop! Don’t touch me! Go away!” Skyler shouted at the brick wall, tears cascading down his cheeks. What was happening to him? He must’ve taken too small of a dosage, he shouldn’t feel this frightened. Colors swirled in front of his rapidly blinking eyes, and invisible shadows loomed over his too small frame. The alleyway seemed to close in on him, the space becoming smaller and smaller until the only thing he could see was the blessed darkness of his unconsciousness.

The small town was slowly deteriorating. People like Skyler were everywhere. Drug addicts in every nook and cranny, alcoholics in every pub and run down buildings, money seekers and bloodthirsty monsters lurked in every shadow. Money was blood, those monsters breathed it, lived it, stole it. They brought it back to their nice, cozy mansions far, far away. Broken promises and cheated partners, along with unsuccessful business deals littered the sidewalks. Dead grass, almost-dead trees, and grey skies provided the scenery. The town reeked with corruption, destruction, addiction, devastation, despair, hatred, sewage leaks, and everything in between…and maybe even something a little more rare, and a little more pure. Hope.

Long ago, in what seems like an eternity, the quaint little village was the epitome of Utopia, never mind that utopia is an imaginary place. The village was known simply as Utopia and the original name was lost. White fences surrounded perfect, white cottages with kids in the front lawn and dogs and cats living peacefully. Green trees, rose bushes, flowers of every kind and smell graced the sidewalks. Neighbors waved hello and greeted you by your first name. Children could be trusted at home, who would want to break into a house? Then, a little envy was dropped, along with some jealousy and obsession. The whole town went up in flames, literally and figuratively.

A small thing called “ice” was introduced and brought into the mainstream of the town, causing its downfall. “Ice” was the popular street name for crystal meth, smoked instead of snorted or injected. Crystal meth was one helluva way for those so-called “business men” to rip money off the unsuspecting teens and adults alike. One dose of it and you’ve got two to sixteen hours of euphoria. The seemingly never-ending euphoric pleasure and abundance of energy and increased libido was enough of a lure to innocents. Of course, there were also the side effects of paranoia, hallucinations, and aggressive, bizarre, and/or psychotic behavior. But when it’s said to bring euphoria, who cares about the rest? Most knew of the dangerous side effects. Everyone knew how dangerously addictive it was, but they still did it… out of fear; fear of before, fear of after, fear of not feeling, fear of wanting and most of all, fear of fear. In a far away world, not too long ago, a man once said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Fear grips a person and clouds their judgment. It is also the downfall of even the greatest civilization. This no longer Utopian society was in no way the “greatest civilization,” but people lived, didn’t they? There’s a history here. People have stories just dying to be told. Welcome to Dystopia. The story of Skyler Larkson. A mere boy of eighteen, or is that a man? He was luckier than most, had a fairytale of his own. Why? Because hope seemed to have a little purpose for him.

When ice first became popular, only the rich and the famous were doing it. Soon, the drug industry was profiting so well, they lowered the price and regular people could afford it. Some people were strongly against the drug in the beginning. There were boycotts of shipments, but those didn’t result to anything. Majority ruled, and sadly, the majority was high and depended on meth. Organizations were formed to stop drug abuse. Only few were successful. The largest organization known as, “Orderway.” Orderway hoped to provide a semblance of peace and normality in the brutal outside world, successfully shielding the members from prolonged exposure in reality. They lived the life of rectangular rooms with high, white walls and hospital-like food. Only select few had ever actually walked more than block away from the tall, red brick building. Those who left for more than a few hours were sucked into meth addiction. Life outside was utter horror. Life inside was pure insanity.

Years after the first meth epidemic, Orderway decided the closed existence of its members was not an effective way to cure victims. Select few were chosen and trained to meet the needs of the boss, the higher being, the head honcho, whoever it was that made all the decisions. These labeled missionary soldiers were trained in the art of cold looks, keeping a cool exterior and a calm mind. Robot-like humans promoted a life scott-free of drugs, not that theirs was any better. Being chosen as a missionary soldier was an honorable position, one that many envied. It was usually passed down through inheritance. The higher officials figured if their parents or grand-parents could do it, it would be passed down through genes. How very right they were, yet how naïve they were to the power of human emotion.