Horror Bag

Linda used to be pretty; she used to be a very nice girl until the drugs got hold of her. It started with the odd drag on a joint, then a little whiz when she was out clubbing.

It wasn't long before someone persuaded her to try Heroin, before long her husband left her, the children had been taken into care and the comings and goings from her house became legend. I don't think her husband leaving had that much impact on her, he was a weak man and couldn't or wouldn't help her, but when the social services came for the kids she was distraught. All the kind people around here said it was her own fault, they had very little sympathy for her and I suppose that's understandable, but I never forgot the kind of person she used to be, and because of that helped her whenever I could.

Mostly it was a case of just being a good neahbour, letting her use my garden shears or loaning her a paintbrush. But several nights ago she knocked on my door and asked If had some spare weed she could borrow, apparently she had friends round at the house and they were chilling out with a smoke, unfortunately they had run out of wacky baccy. Now I get the paintbrush, the shears, the odd cup of sugar, and even the loan of a couple of bob until weekend, but marijuana?

What on earth makes her think that a fifty-seven year old Gin drinking, lawn mowing, Rover driving old fart like me would have Marijuana. Sure I like a drink, several in fact, and I could even be called a party animal, but weed. I had to disappoint her, my stash was depleted as it was, the Congo green was little more than crumbs and I was saving the skunk for a special occasion.

I asked her about the drugs thing and she told me that she had over a period of time weaned herself of the heroin, back onto the whiz, and from there back into smoking weed, sort of reverse order of decline. Shouldn't be long before I'm just an alcoholic again she said cheerfully. I was impressed, not only was she getting her life back in order, all be it in reverse order, but unknowingly she had discovered a cure for drug addiction. She left to try Marcus further up the avenue, a nice chap who works hard and at the age of thirty three still lives with his dad, I think that might be down to the bright red hair and his preference for fun clothes.

I was informed yesterday that he had joined Linda and her friends for a drink and a quick puff. Later in the evening after copious amounts of booze and weed, one of Linda's guests took exception to something Marcus had said and set about him with a golf ball fastened to the end of a chain, that apparently he carried with him for just such an occasion. Poor Marcus lies in hospital his broken and swollen body as red as his hair, they must have given him a good smartening up for him to be admitted to hospital.

Linda won't be going to visit him, she doesn't like hospitals, and anyway he deserved what he got for being lippy to her friends she told me. At that moment I realized that she was never again going to be the person she used to be, that girl was gone forever, lost to whatever Shite she had put into her body.

The Names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.