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Death of An Addict

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It has been no more than 4 days since A.J. woke up to his inevitable demise. The friendly folks at New Paris had found him and his companion, Mike Swart, hovering over a corpse that they claimed to have been the aggressor. Their stories didn’t match up and both of them shot one another quick glares as the French Foreign Legion questioned them mercilessly.

In the end, however, they resided to giving the m the benefit of the doubt and took them in. Their Vice President, Joffrey, had the two swear an oath of allegiance to the cause and even made them the first two members of the “civilian militia.”

A.J. Torrens and Mike Swart weren’t bad guys. They were merely survivors who didn’t belong in this cruel world. A.J. couldn’t handle blood when sober, but under the influence of his usual narcotics… A.J. felt as if he ruled the world. He was thankful for his new comrades who accepted his addictions and some even went out of their ways to get him his next fix. “Keep this with you, friend.” were the words of a friendly member who handed him some black tar heroin.


On their first mission, the crew ascended the Mountain of Green in search of possible recruits. “Private Torrens! Get that steak cooking for the men!”

A.J. never had to cook before in his life. He was from Florida and his parents were already well off. Mommy’s credit card was all he needed and oh how he ate lavishly. A.J. tossed the steaks onto the fire, not aware that it would burn to quick. “You’re doing it wrong private!”


A.J. began collecting the smoldering steaks and didn’t realize that he was, in fact, “melting his face off.”

Luckily, with the help of the Lieutenant McGee and Detective O’Neill, A.J. survived and was brought into the jail house where he was sat on top of the toilet. “You’re going to be fine, private, just stay with me.”

A.J. couldn’t handle pain like the others so he pulled out a dirty syringe and took a hit of the black tar. “Private, no!” shouted one of the men before A.J. was knocked unconscious by a fist.

“C-chief! We had to knock some sense into the private!”

A.J. came to mere minutes later, surrounded by the lieutenant, detective, and his old friend, Sergeant Mike Swart. The first thing he saw was a light. “H-heaven?” he questioned as he reached out for the light only for it to be just out of his reach.

“Maybe I’m just not there yet.”

With hysterical crying, A.J. pulled a gun to his head and began muttering nonsense. He payed no attention to the pleas and demands for him to drop the gun. He kept his eyes fixated on Mike, a small smile marked his visage.

“Mike… I..-”


A.J. wasn’t paying attention to see who it was that was trying to yank the gun away, but unfortunately the private’s finger slipped and the trigger was pulled…

Blackness… A.J. Torren's story had ended.

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Sad ending. Enjoyed the read.

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Very nice story, definitely pulled on my heart strings.

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Lol, this sounds oddly familiar. The Private will never be forgot.

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