This is the first proper story I ever wrote. I wrote it a few years ago and it's only three paragraphs long, but it's still pretty good.
It's about a man searching for his next fix, hense the name.
How you enjoy. Comment, rate and so forth.

He stumbled through the dark streets, the rain soaked pavements glistened in the light of the lamp posts. His mind was only on one thing. He needed his fix. The sounds of the traffic were faint and muffled, his vision was hazy. He wondered around corner after corner, helplessly searching for the only thing he needed. He knew it was wrong, his need was the causes of all his troubles, but in some ways it was also the solution. He has a vivid image of it in his head, his sweet addiction, his blessing, his curse. He needed his fix, no matter what it took. 

He eventually stopped at a block of flats, bleak and depressing, the grey concrete covered in graffiti. He pressed the button and, after a short pause, he heard the familiar long buzzing sound and the large metal door was unlocked. After pushing his way through the entrance he saw that the lift was out of order, the doors dented as if they had been kicked with a great deal of force. He was frustrated, but didn't dwell on it, and climbed the many flights of stairs to the fifth floor, the anticipation to get to his fix taking his mind off how tired he was as he reached his destination. He walked through the narrow corridor, the paint on the walls chipped, a light bulb flickering in the distance, a damp, eerie smell filling his lungs. He walked up to the far end of the hallway to a brown door, Flat 4B. He knocked on it, urgently yet anxiously, his hand trembling. He was so close. On the other side of this door was what he needed. His fix. He longed for his fix with every fibre of his being, but he feared his fix because of what it was doing to him, transforming him into nothing more than a desperate junkie. 

The door finally opened, creaking at its rusty hinges. His heart skipped several beats, as if he were having a pleasant heart attack, his eyes widened like a dear caught in the headlights of a vehicle, his throat became dry and he felt light headed. There she was, standing right in front of him in all her haunting beauty. His sweet addiction. His blessing. His curse. His fix.


The End

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