Blood Of Our Father (238 words)

With a backwards lurch of his head he pulls the belt ever tighter around his arm. He struggles to find a healthy one but eventually he pushes the needle into a vein, letting out an involuntary whimper as the skin is broken. He pulls the plunger back and fills the chamber with his life's essence.

He pauses and his heart races with anticipation, he enjoys this moment almost as much as the high that follows and likes to draw it out for as long as he dares. Finally he caves in and fires the plunger home, flooding his body with the poison it craves. The whimper is replaced with an orgasmic groan as the drug charges through his body, all of his aches, pains and troubles melt away.

He closes his eyes, holds his breath and savours the moment. Everything is going to be ok, he can quit anytime, this was just a special treat. Each lie easily following the one before.

Slowly he opens his heavy lidded eyes, frees his arm and wriggles the fingers trying to get the feeling back in them. Wary of being caught he cleans up after himself, stowing his gear deep in the pockets of his robe.

He splashes some water on his face, slaps his cheeks to get some colour back in them, adjusts his clothes and steps out to address the audience.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today …"

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