Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: STORM (10/05/17)
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TITLE: Dead End | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gary Ritter
10/10/17 -
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The other driver couldn’t hear him, of course, but he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Dustin ranting at him. That was it when the guy smiled. Dustin gestured that the idiot was number one in his book and jammed his foot on the accelerator. His car jerked forward and came within inches of the other car’s bumper. He pounded on his horn and kept it up, all the while spouting obscenities. The man simply slowed down even more.
Dustin was thinking of ramming the fool when he suddenly turned off at an exit. If he hadn’t been in a hurry to get home, Dustin might have gone after his nemesis. Instead, he gritted his teeth and clamped his hands on the wheel and drove as fast as he could, weaving in and out of traffic. If that guy ever showed up again, Dustin vowed, he’d get his.
He screeched to a halt in the parking lot of his apartment complex and ran. At the door of his second-floor unit, he scrabbled for his key and finally burst into the living room. Empty. She’d done what she threatened. All the life drained out of him. His arms fell useless to his sides, and he shuffled to the kitchen, to their bedroom, to the boys’ room. Nothing left.
The bathroom medicine cabinet was ajar. Inside he spotted a note along with his bottle of pills that remained. “Hope these give you comfort. You won’t get it from me anymore. Ellie.”
Steam rose within him. In the mirror, he saw the rosacea on his face flare. Oh yeah, they’d give him comfort, alright. He tossed down five of the opiates and stomped back down to his car to retrieve his hash pipe. On the way back up, he punched at the wall in the stairway. It didn’t give.
The next morning, he awoke in a haze with his knuckles red and swollen. He stumbled into the bathroom and grabbed at the pill jar. No! It was half full yesterday. Did he take them all? He should be dead. In fact, he wished he were.
His stomach gurgled and nausea overcame him. Bile rose up so fast most of it didn’t make it to the toilet. Kneeling in the filth, he pounded the porcelain with his good hand. Why? Why? Why?
Later he sat outside on the steps, head in hand. A neighbor, Mike, he knew only by sight came over. “Hey, man, you sure look on a downer.” A big man, Mike plopped down beside him.
“My girlfriend left me. Took our kids.”
Mike examined him, squinting a little as he did so. “Drugs?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was there once. Went to the joint for three years. Found something more important than getting high.”
“You were in prison? So was I. Couple years ago. Possession. Sale of narcotics.”
“It’s a dead-end street, man.” Mike rocked back and was quiet.
“What did you find that was ‘more important’?”
“Jesus.”
“Oh, for…” Dustin shook his head. “Religion ain’t for me.”
“You think I’m talkin’ religion? You need to grow up—man up. You want to be like this the rest of your life? Are you kidding me? Is this any way to live?”
“No. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”
“Well, there you go. That’s your answer. It was the answer for me. And only Jesus could heal me.” Mike’s joints cracked as he got up. He slapped Dustin on the shoulder. “Think about it. It’s not over yet for you, if you turn to the One who’ll give you life.”
Dustin did think about it. He’d been stoned most of his early years and now into his twenties. What did he have to show for it? An empty bank account and a void in his soul. What had Mike said? “Grow up—man up.”
It was then that the realization hit him. Dustin had never faced the issues in his life. he’d run from them—avoided them by getting high. He didn’t know how to handle obstacles and challenges. He was still a child.
“I have to learn to be a man.”
That was the beginning.
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