PILL

A Story by Ron Mexico

An intro to a story I want to write

PILL

Ron Mexico

This is college, what can I say, I think I'm prone to self destructive tendencies. I constantly find myself in the dark, drunk, sleep deprived, tied up, with a bag over my head, in someone else's trunk. No not really, that was just last Tuesday. I can honestly say that was a new feeling.

Let's just get this out of the way too, Jeffery, where ever you are, go to Hell. Pack your bags, and go burn in a fire. When you said lets go to Columbia, like that was a good idea, I was all for it; let's go for the cocaine, (Don't do cocaine kids) let's go for the women. Seriously go to Hell buddy, because the next day I find myself wearing a bomb around my waist with assorted drugs down my pants, which needless to say was unpleasant.

So where am I now? Well picture one of those beetles that’s on its back, you know the kind that kicks it's small legs but can't roll over. It just keeps kicking though, and it's not even making a difference. Anyone can step on that bug, absolutely anyone.

Well that bug is me. I feel completely hopeless and on my back. I don't know if you've ever been at the point that you know you're about to die, but that's what I am feeling. If you condensed high school into one twenty seconds that's how I feel. It's hard to explain, I'm nauseas, excited, and completely and utterly terrified all at once. So let's take it back a bit, before I blow up.

***

I vaguely remember the party. I have fragmented images flashing in my head like a strobe light. The contents of those memories would be better be left unsaid. Though I didn't find myself on the floor like you would expect. The next morning I found myself tied up struggling for air. I kicked in the struggle, every gasp through the bag over my face. The air slipping through the weaving ever so slowly. I tried moving but it was pointless as I tossed and turned, cramping like no other on all sides.

You would think the first thought into my head would be, "Why am I in a trunk?" (I had figured that much out) No that wasn't what I was thinking at all. In fact, if I remember I was thinking about where to throw up. It was quite the predicament if you can imagine. So I settled for the bag. It wasn't a lot of vomit, but that didn't make it any better.

The constant swinging back and forth with every turn bruised my ribs. It was the farthest thing from graceful. They could've been running over ducks for all I knew, it felt like it. The stops were abrupt, and painful. Finally when I felt the car slow down I prepared myself. At least mentally. It came to a complete stop and the engine stopped. I saw a sliver of light break through the dark. A shadow faded over, as a figure loomed on top of me. That shadow broke into several more as multiple hands grabbed me. "This guy threw up too." One voice said in Portuguese.

I was put on the cold ground, and the cloth was removed. The sun seemingly exploded in my eyes, it took a second to readjust. A short and fat Columbian stood in front of me. He was obviously disgusted as he looked at my face. I wiped the puke on my shirt and stared him down. Without flinching I sternly said to him, "You have a whole lot of explaining to do." He stared at me for a moment, shrugged his shoulders and said,

"I don't speak English." I did my best to stand up with my adjoined legs. I teetered for a moment in the struggle then stood tall. I took a look at my surroundings realizing I was by the pier. I could tell you that by the salt in the air. There was a grey metal building in front of me with boarded windows. Next to it were several cars each with an apparent victim being pulled out. I wasn't the only one nauseous either, some unfortunate soul just let it go, his whole shirt was soaked in vomit.

Every one looked just as distressed and confused. The one thing I noticed was they were all American. Including some blonde headed retard who decided it would be a good idea to make a run for it. He was all tied up too, so seven hops later he fell on his face, staining the concert with his blood. I looked around to see a nearby hand held out with a magnum. Smoke bellowed out the chamber and the man laughed.

There was at least twenty of them, none however spoke any English it seemed, except one. His accent was raw and unfamiliarly but I could understand him. He wore a bullet proof vest and had his hair slicked back. He looked and talked like the devil,

"Running, is not a good idea, clearly. Perhaps you are wondering why you are here?" He gestured to some others who ran inside the building, "The police have cracked down hard on drug smuggling. Anything suspicious, they will check you. We can't make it six miles out of this place. You are all white tourists. The police always turn their head to tourists." His men approached him with several handfuls of large trash bags, "I need each of you to make a delivery for me. You will each be transporting this." He pulled a small pill out of his pocket,

"This is x9. This little pill will be the next heroine, the next cocaine, the next LSD, this pill is manna. It is an extremely powerful and extremely profitable. I can't afford to lose any of these. I will each give you a portion so if I lose you, I don't lose all of my profit. What I do with you when you are done, is up to me. Again don't run, to make sure you don't I am strapping explosives to each one of you."

© 2017 Ron Mexico

Author's Note

JM FIELDS Idea man

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Reviews

Luther Calvin

Interesting story. Some parts were hard to follow, like mentioning the narrator was in college, followed by a college that actually was a country, Columbia. Also, I think they speak Spanish there, but I'm not certain. It definitely has potential. Maybe JM Fields could offer better advice than I, since you give him credit for the idea. Good job, and keep writing.