Junkie stares out of the window, blowing a thin line of smoke from his dry lips. When the sour cigarette is finished, he gently tosses it onto the empty street below. I would die if I fell from this height, Junkie solemnly thinks. “Junkie” the only familiar voice calls from behind. “What do you want?” Junkie asks CJ. “Stop moping” CJ replies, “follow me”. Junkie smiles. Nothing else to do, he thinks. CJ starts walking up the stairs. “There’s, like, twelve more levels in this building” Junkie whines “let’s take the elevator”. “There’s also a twelve to one chance of us surviving if we step foot in that piss-filled elevator” CJ chuckles. “God, I never should have picked you up. Lazy Junkie”. Junkie has no reply, starting to step up the stairs, two at a time. The two boys eventually reach the roof of the building, the last level being scaled by a latter and trapdoor. “Thank God that two-inch wall is around the roof of this building” Junkie jokes “I could fall and d—“ “HOLY HELL JUNKIE DUDE WHAT JUNKIE LOOK IS THAT A PERSON” Junkie dazedly looks around for whatever CJ was yelling about. Junkie watched about the last half second of the scene—a short human figure with long, dark hair falling off the edge of the roof. He stayed silent as CJ pointlessly screamed profanity, maybe guessing his language would save the figure’s life.
Junkie glanced up from his twiddling thumbs once more to focus his attention on the sign in the waiting room that read OREGON STATE HOSPITAL OF PORTLAND. He and CJ were the only company in the small, airlock-like room besides a quiet old woman. Deciding to start conversation, Junkie looked at CJ. “Medical weed is a thing now, right?” CJ rolled his eyes and reluctantly replied confirmatively. Junkie stared at the single nurse in the waiting room, his dark eyes wide. “I have anxiety disorder” he smiled at her. “Can I have weed?” The nurse disdainfully reminded him that he “unfortunately” could not be given marijuana. “I can, however, give you Xanax legally”. Junkie held himself from celebrating before the nurse opened a cabinet at the far corner of the room, took a single Xanax out of a bottle, and placed it in Junkie’s palm. Junkie semi-frowned at his one pill, but still took it with the sports drink from the mini-fridge in the waiting room. CJ shook his head at Junkie. “Your name’s no mistake, you worthless delinquent. Now let’s go smoke”. It took about 8 minutes and 4 cigarettes between them for a doctor to walk out of the building and survey the boys on the wall, reminding them that they could not smoke this close to a business, especially a hospital, let alone the fact that they did not look old enough to be taking the drags they still were. “Wait—were you waiting for the girl… attempted suicide? Dark hair…” “Ye” CJ interrupted, jamming his cigarette into the ashtray next to him and sat up to follow the balding doctor back into the hospital.
You walk into the room, dragging your step and tattered shoes to a position beside my hospital bed. The older boy beside you looks at me and starts to say what I think was “Sup. I saved your life” before a nurse quickly stepped in front of my face, asking too many questions too fast. “What do you remember? Do you know your name? How old are you?” I shook my head at all of these questions. I really did not know. But I had a feeling you were going to help me.
“Short Story Point of View” -Payton Lee
