Ox Malton
Ox stumbled through the front door to his budget apartment. It had looked half decent before he'd ruined the carpet with leftover needles, crushed up pills and weed. The walls that had been a warm blue colour were now stained forever with vomit, beer, piss, and god knows what else. The small kitchen with wooden counter tops and a very small cramped oven laid unused, instead being home to more empty needles, pill bottles, bags of weed and a small amount of cocaine residue left behind from nights spent trying to forget his issues.
Collapsing down on the couch -the one thing not covered in needles- Ox smiled up at the ceiling like it had just told the most hilarious joke.
But then the whispering started.
"Let me out, Ox..."
He tried to ignore it, but the whispering grew louder.
"C'mon... we could have so much fun."
No.
"You miss me... you miss all the things we used to do..."
Shut up.
"Remember when we cornered that guy in the alley, you had so much fun ripping him to-"
Shut up. Shut UP. SHUT UP.
Ox practically threw himself off the couch and crawled to the kitchen, rolling up a joint with shakey hands and groped around for a lighter. Sitting the joint between his lips and lighting it, Ox inhaled deeply. After a few puffs the high was starting to kick in. The whispering grew silent. Leaning his back against the cupboards, he finally started to relax. His head was his again, nobody else's.
