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purify your hit?"
"Yes, I do."
Carmen fills the syringe with 60 units of purified water and tenderly empties it out onto to the spoon. She ignites the lighter and hypnotically turns into the new age Suzy Homemaker; the U-100's plunger becomes her stirring spoon as she mixes her Hard Candy in the kitchen of their two-room apartment. It was the only thing she could cook.

After cleaning off the plunger, she washes her hands, rolls a ball of cotton slightly bigger than the Tic-Tac chicks she dropped in earlier, and places it into the spoon. Carmen watches enviously as the cotton takes in the liquid. She glances over at Tim who is caught up in his own apathy.
In seconds the cotton swells like a sponge and she injects the U-100, slowly drawing in the concoction until it's gone.
"Where are you going?"
"Computer. I can't stand the smell of alcohol." Carmen was sanitizing the inside of her elbow for the needle's prick. She didn't feel like playing around today; the vein there was the most accessible. She follows Tim into the bedroom.
Sitting on the bed, adjacent to the computer, she places needle nearly flat on her arm as it slides in. This invasion, a welcome one, was nearly painless. The first time it hurt. She hates needles.
Carmen carefully pulls back the plunger to see if the needle was in the vein. A small amount of blood rushes in mixing with the hit. It was beautiful, one needing the other, blending, fusing, and merging together.
She quickly inhales as she moves the drug forward into her body. Tim hasn't even stirred. It started. It was good, for a second. Euphoria turned into severe itching, shallow breathing, dry mouth, clammy skin, and disorientation.
Carmen lay back onto the bed with surprising grace. Tim slightly turned his head.
"Hey. Carmen? Sweetheart?" There was nothing. Now she is unconscious - spastic muscles, pupils the size of pinpoints, and fingernails with a bluish hue about them.
Tim leaves the room briefly to phone for help. He hangs up and finds himself running toward the bed and crashing next to her. He cradles her. He never did approve of Carmen's habit, but it was the only thing that could make her happy. He knew he couldn't. As he teared up over her, it wasn't enough. She was getting worse. He thought to say something earlier as she put the two chicks onto the spoon; for his birthday last month she promised to stop using. This was her first hit back. Her tolerance was too low for her normal dose, but even now, at her worst, she was as beautiful as ever. His fingers running through her dark, thick hair, free of tangles. Her lips have yet to become cold and dark. Slightly pursed, they were the color of teak roses.

Learn more about this author, Grady McGrath.
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