The alarm screams its livelihood, penetrating my outer ear, vibrating towards my soul. I strike the buttons, hoping dearly to find the right one. The volume increases, and I’m more frantic now. I find the plug, remove it from the outlet, and let out a generous sigh.
My room is dimly lit as a vague light pierces the open space beneath a solid wood door. I reach, deliriously stomping my finger tips through my nightstands half-shut drawer. It rattles. I’ve found it. Bringing my hands together, I twist its hardened white cap, emptying its contents. One, two, three, four, five, six, done. In my hand a soft blue pill, scored in the center– I break each in two. I’ve made 12. With a nights old water I swallow the contents in my sweating palm. Gulp, gulp, gulp, down.
Stepping aside my bed, I sit up, moving towards my closet to dress. School starts shortly, and I’m already running late. Brush my teeth, make my bed, go upstairs and eat breakfast, hug my mom goodbye, and leave.
Arriving in first block I eagerly take my seat in the furthest rearward corner of the classroom. My friend who sits in front of me always wears the cutest underwear, and she knows without caution that I enjoy the sight. Her smooth skin on the small of her back is most desirable, meeting the edge of her lace boyshorts showing just above her jeans waistline.
Unscrewing my pen, I drop the contents of its cylinder in to my palm. Again, I crack them in two, only this time they are white. There is 5 all together, making 10 for an easier swallow. I ask her for a drink of her Sprite. It’s cold, still carbonated, and tastes of her lips. Mmm. Down they go.
The TV flashes in front of me with its light infiltrating my eyes. I look at the clock– it’s 7 at night, and I have no idea how I’ve arrived here. Sitting on the couch, I lean back directly on to the soft pillows, caressing my body with delicacy. Where had my day gone? Did I go to school? Where is my mind?
It’s over. My day. School. The pain. The Xanax has made me lost, the Vicodin–numb. My addiction continues on. Tomorrow will be just the same.
Just-A-Minimal-Risk 
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