Amougst us is a boy, no older than sixteen.
He falls into the grass, weakended by a once triumpful bliss... now nothing more than a hollow capsle of flesh attributed to an excess of black blie and constanst abuse.
His lungs press deeply into his ribcage—clicking, snapping like the intergrated clogs of a clock—while a impending pain naws within the pit of his now empty stomach. He retches again, dry and sharp.
Rising to his feet, he wavers, his lack of equalibrium causes a sensation of whirling, much like rotating helicopter blades submerged in molasses.
Slow. Everything is slow.
He slams into the ground again... gravity pulling and grabbing at his clothes. His knees are no longer able to support his dwindling weight. He's nothing but a bag of bones with a stubborn soul that still harbors a trace of childish hope.
His youthful body once strong and able has met its match... fatigue eats at him, blackening the edges of his vision.
He knows that there is only one thing in the whole world that can bring him strength again.
Reaching for the back pocket of his over-sized jeans, he pulls out a small clear packet.