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5 pages, Nook
Published January 22, 2016

Don’t feel sorry for me. Evie doesn’t want your pity. I knew the dangers. I had overdosed twice before and got brought back to life by the Wizard of Narcan.
Don’t just hug trees. People need hugs, too.
Those who get the urge to bully, fight, make war or terrorize people instantly fall through a trap door and are surrounded by a room full of puppies. If they act angrily to this arrangement or try to harm the puppies in any way, those puppies can shape-shift into venomous snakes and terminate the scum in an instant.
However, if the offenders pet and play nicely with the puppies, they are given a second chance to live above ground and fly again.
When a person is in pain, whether it be physical, mental or emotional, he or she must declare it verbally or non-verbally to 10 other people. After that, all 11 people "own” that pain and must work together to help the sufferer heal. If a medical professional is required, then so be it.
Either way, all 11 will remain connected until the person in pain declares to the other 10 that he or she is healed. If the pain cannot be cured, the other 10 must take turns helping the ailing person for the rest of his or her life.
Divorced people once existed, but a meteor crashed into the planet long ago and those people are now extinct. Only their fossils remain.
Free massages, manicures and/or pedicures for all those who hug 100 people in a day out of genuine warmth, compassion and human companionship.
One day, after emerging from a Dunkin’ Donuts bathroom with my daily dose of heroin secured in a bag, I looked directly into the beautiful, happy face of a little boy I didn’t even know. He was just sitting there with his dad and sister eating munchkins at a table.
His bright eyes as big as blueberries.
His dimpled, cheeky smile.
His infectious giggle.
That killed me … and my downward spiral.
I wanted to be that happy. Wasn’t I once?
More importantly, I wanted to have a son some day who would be that happy.
Somehow, in that paralyzing moment, I decided to betray my cravings and break out of my habit. I stumbled over to the trash bin and forced my trembling hand to shove the heroin bag through the flap.
I had always wanted to be a heroine, worthy of the lead character in a bestselling novel that got made into a movie.
But they don’t write stories and make movies like that about heroin addicts.
That’s too bad. Because we are people, too. People with dreams and desires and flaws just like everyone else.
It just so happens that my flaw proved fatal.
"One extreme example that I now can identify with is heroine and her dangerous alter ego, heroin.
Drop an "e" and you go from the girl everyone cheers for to the girl who steals to get high; the girl who never dies to the girl most likely to die before age 25."