Sum of the World
4 weeks was not enough time to prepare for this event. A struggling artist was given the opportunity to have his work displayed downtown at a local art gallery. He had all his sculptures and paintings carried into the empty showroom. Everything seemed in order until the last minute. He began to worry; maybe it wasn’t perfect. He walked around nervously, sweating, making sure everything was exact. Guests started to arrive; first they looked around, walked full circle around sculptures, studying every detail. The artist was biting his nails, pulling at his collar, sweating profusely, who wondered why they took so long to comment on his work. But he left to take care of a personal matter when they finally nodded with approval. They moved on to admire the paintings but at this time our artist ducked into the bathroom to sooth his high. He pulled a pipe from his jacket along with a pebble sized portion of crack. After indulging in his bliss he returned to the showroom to find chaos and destruction. His sculptures were shattered and his paintings torn and sprayed with graffiti. His first chance of recognition was destroyed; he crumbled just like his creations.
8 teens were reportedly caught defacing a local art exhibition. That’s what the headlines would say if they were ever caught. After their mischievous night the teenagers blended into the empty urban landscape. Running and laughing; barely breathing, they all passed out under their usual hang out spot; under the bridge. It was littered with empty and half empty beer bottles and cans; cigarette packs and cigarette butts; torn and stained mattresses. The most horrible pieces of trash, other than the kids, were the recently used syringes and blood stained tourniquets. They lay staring at the bottom of the mossy bridge, their eyes glazed over, and smiles on their faces. They sought someone to look up to; somewhat of a role model. The only friends they had were each other, their drugs, and whoever fed their habit. When do people begin experimenting with such dangerous decisions?
15 years old and they’re already a menace to society. Those troubled teens are a problem. They needed to be stopped. Where are their parents and why aren’t they doing anything about the situation? There has been increased looting and destruction through the neighborhood. Principals from middle to high school have been worried about students falling behind. They noticed lethargic responses, slow movement, slurred speech; it was like zombies sat in every class. Others became aggressive, shoving other students and even teachers. Conferences were called between parents and teacher. Their discussions were less than productive. The mothers held their ears not wanting to hear how far behind their kids were and the fathers interrupted with accusations. The parents blamed the school systems for failing to educate their children. The only good that came out of these meetings, since both sides blamed each other, the schools wanted to conduct drug tests of suspicious students. Although the parents opposed, they relented, and agreed. They wanted to solve this mystery but rather than ask their children they scolded. Beatings, yelling, and threats encouraged the teens to stray from home and seek new acceptance.
16 months ago a legendary drug lord set up shop in the next county. He’s been in the business for decades, climbing the ranks while trying to remain under the radar. Apparently he was the supplier for celebrities; actors, musicians, artists, and even law enforcement. As an acquaintance to these famous people he could easily earn thousands and possibly millions. His name will remain undisclosed to protect my own life. It’s been known that he has ties to the mafia even as high up and far away as the president of Colombia. Supposedly, he sells more than drugs. This includes guns, fake ID cards, illegal DVDs, forged passports and I heard he once got a hold of top secret FBI information, probably some machine that could instantly double his drug exports. He is a legend but nobody knows where he came from. According to legend, he was dealing dope at the age of sixteen. He took over his mother’s family business at a dry cleaner. Instead of laundry detergent he washed clothes with cocaine to give his favorite customers a new high by letting absorb through the skin. This is how much of a genius he is. He’s cool, calm, and collected. He doesn’t break a sweat and never raises his voice. His patience is thick just like his wallet. Any trouble he ever gets into becomes quickly resolved. There seems to be a special system worked out for him.
23 minutes into the drug lord’s latest trial, the judge collapsed and died. Before this unpredictable event, the judge was in the privacy of her chambers; out of the eye from media. There, she indulged in her guilty pleasure. She injected heroin into her arm. Who would ever find out the judge, a position in which the law is enforced upon others, would break the very rules she is meant to uphold? Well, everybody did. Seconds before the incident, the jurors announced their verdict one by one. A face that was locally published in the newspapers was that of juror number four. It’s been a couple of days since his art show; he was still looking distraught over that mess of a night. How ironic is it that a druggie artist was called to jury duty for a man that most likely supplied him his fix? As the judge’s fresh corpse lay on the floor, the case was dismissed. The drug lord was yet another innocent man. He held a slight smile. Perhaps there was some sort of persuasion. The entire jury all agreed to find him not guilty and it was discovered in the judge’s chambers that she had decided he was innocent long before the trial. Her bank records were looked into, for some connecting reason, and it was discovered she had recently deposited a large sum of money.
42 thousand dollars is how much a human is worth, according to the drug lord. Nobody seems to mind being paid off. This means all twelve jurors, judges, police officers, government officials, witnesses, and countless others. They are bribed by the drug lord and his cronies, money to fill their mouths with lies. They greedily accept any amount in order to speed trials along. They want to get on with their lives instead of being stuck in court; as if they have something better to do. Nothing good will ever come out of a corrupt government. Once our little town is goes under we’ll be in the headlines. “Small Town Rotting Away,” and they’ll just let us stir in the filth and mischief we created. We’ll be known as the poorest, most drug induced, intoxicated, stupidest place on Earth. Who should care about our town when they’re probably dealing with the same problems? The rest of the world will look at us with ignoring eyes and muffled ears; they don’t want to hear our pleas for help. And we’ll all be swept along with these incidences under the carpet of tenth grade history textbooks. Never to be read by the drugged out teens in our schools.
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