The needle tip sparkled under the hot desk lamp. The soft light danced up and down the slim metal shaft of the syringe, practically begging for Kirk to pick it up. But he couldn’t, even though every fiber of his being wanted him to.

His body trembled violently and cold perspiration dripped from his face. It had been one day since he last used—since he swore off the junk for good. But it wasn’t the churning of his gut or the pounding in his skull that had him wanting to use again. It was his loneliness.

It never ends.

Syringe_Needle.jpg

While you’re here, check out some of these other great micro fiction pieces!

100 Word Stories: Body In The Morgue

100 Word Stories: The Noise Makers

100 Word Stories: The Passing Of Time And Honor

 

2 Comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.