Salmaan walked into the dimly lit bedroom with a small syringe containing a volume of clear liquid, ready for injection. He laid it next to my father, Aamir, hoping he would agree to take it, and then walked over to the calendar to change the date: April 19th, 2050. He had been one of my father’s most trusted advisors, helping create the largest opium and heroin empire that the world had ever seen. Despite the immense sums of wealth and power that both garnered throughout their decades of smuggling, distributing, and profiting from a substance that ruined their lives, he felt helpless at the sight of his friend succumbing to the unfortunate consequence of those many euphoric nights stemming from the white poison. My father refused the …show more content…
He scrambled for a business card he had kept securely in his left shirt pocket, and quickly wrote down a familiar name and number on the back. After stuffing the piece of paper in my hand, he calmed a bit. My father began, “Irfaan, I gave you everything you needed and could ever want in life, but the one thing I never gave was an honest answer to your question. Son, I am dying today because of a choice I made, or rather, the career I chose.” He went on to describe his lucrative heroin business and its many intricacies ranging from his partners in crime to his remorse for the damage he caused. He also related the story of his childhood in Afghanistan and his father, my grandfather, yet another mystery he never spoke of throughout his life. As he finished, his breathing became shallower and heart rate began to increase until suddenly, it dropped to a feeble pulse. As he took his final breaths, he lowered his gaze in shame and he whispered, “Promise me that you will put an end to the monster I created, once and for all, but in a manner that will not tarnish your name nor your conscience. Promise me. Promise me.” As he closed his eyes, inhaling one last time, I repeated the only words that would form on my trembling lips: I promise. My father let out his final breath and passed away, leaving behind a monster for me to destroy, but also a peaceful smile, reassuring his faith in me and my ability to succeed in my fight against the opium
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To break rank, to let myself slide to the side of the road… My father's presence was the only thing that stopped me. He was running next to me, out of breath, out of strength, desperate. I had no right to let myself die. What would he do without me?
My father’s presence was the only thing that stopped me.... He was running at my side, out of breath, at the end of his strength, at his wit’s end. I had no right to let myself die. What would he do without me? I was his only support.”
If you’re reading this then obviously I’m dead. If you’re reading this then I’m already home. How or why I’m dead I haven’t a clue. But most likely it was for a good cause or an accident. All I know is that, if it wasn’t caused by too severe of injuries, then somehow I saved someone elses life. And either that’s how I died by saving lives or I died and saved lives with my organs. If that’s how I died then it was worth it. That’s what I feel my purpose was fullfilled. So therefore, there is no crying. Only happyness for what I accomplished. Looks like I only got a one way ticket over here to my real home. Sure wish I could give you one more kiss. I'm up here with God and we're both watching over you. Stand up for the innocent and weak. Tell dad I don't regret the decisions I’ve made.
Story telling is a uniquely human attribute. It is an imaginative process between the composer and responder that invites us, as the audience to engage vicariously with the experience of others. Stories or narratives have been shared in all culture as a mean of education, entertainment and also to notify the audience of the values and belief systems of our culture. The texts of ‘Through the tunnel’ and ‘Green tomatoes at the Whistlestop Cafe’ conspicuously highlight the ability of storytelling to empower the individual and outline storytelling as a device to inform us of values and people’s transmission is able to transcend time.
“She was not always a junkie. After our marriage, someone she knew made her try Opium and everything went downhill. I was going to introduce her to my family, but the drug claimed her as its companion within a few days. There was no way I could tell Squire about her.”
James was prescribed a long-acting painkiller for chronic back pain after a severe injury. However, James also liked the high. He used more than his physician ordered, and would buy them on the street when he ran out. When using, he became the life of the party. He went through an inheritance of over $100,000 in just twelve months, spending most of the money to buy drugs and alcohol for himself and his “friends.” He would experience withdrawal symptoms when he ran out of opioids. When he complained of severe abdominal pain and noted a yellowish tint to his eyes, his physician diagnosed acute liver failure due to both the acetaminophen in the painkillers and excessive use of alcohol.
“I am so sorry,” a stream of red carried my apology to him. “I didn’t know that you would….” I trembled. “That we would…” Our memories shattered against the stretch of diminishing breath. “You need to go. You’re running out of time.”
“No, just what the nurses told me,” he mumbled. He moved to the coffee machine hidden in the bookcase and poured a coffee. Leaning against the back of the chair, he peered over Adrienne’s shoulder, his eyes on the results of the tests.
Waking up sober for the first time in weeks, face wet, implanted on a dirt embedded floor, inside an abandoned motel, in the middle of Palm Springs. I was crying in my sleep. I needed to run from myself; instead I reached for another needle. If I remained sober for too many minutes I would have to realize where I was and what I had become.” I come from a picturesque family. I have a loving mother and father, two sisters, and a brother. My childhood was everything I could of wanted. I played sports, rode motocross, and even had horses. I can still recall my parents telling me, “Never do drugs, drugs will kill you.” Well, my parents were right… almost. My brother was the first to bring drugs into my life. A little hit of marijuana wouldn’t hurt,
“Well look,” said Sophie. “You have..what? Like 7 more months left in this place? Trust me, it’ll be over before you know it. “I hope so..”, I told her before leaving for my cell. There I laid on my pillow. I thought that maybe if I could wean myself off of heroine, my time here might not be so miserable. But who am I kidding? Even I didn’t believe that. It’s the only thing that keeps me near sane. I heard hard, rubber boots hit the ground, coming towards my cell. It was C.O. Wright. “Supply closet, now.”, he commanded. I got off my feet and headed there. I waited for around 3 minutes, touching the towels used for cleaning that were of a much better quality than the towels we were granted to clean ourselves with. I saw the door handle open. C.O. Wright stepped in and and went into his boxers to pull out a little baggie of heroin, just for me. I reach and he pulls back. “Now we’ve been doing this way too long for you to expect me to give this to you upfront. You know the fucking routine, Anderson.” I say nothing and nod as I take my clothes of for another half hour of shame. “7 ½ more months”, I think to myself as he lies his sweaty body on top of
Lyle was pissed off because the door was closed bc of the rain and Saia pulled up and nobody knew so he had to go unload the truck. Can back inside and shoved the chip board into my pick tickets and scanner causing them to do all over so I pushed the clip board back to where is was in the first place. Then he started yelling " bitch you need to chill the fuck the out" I said you shoved the chip board and caused my paper to go all over so I pushed it back where it was. He then started yelling " bitch shut the fuck up" so I told him he was not going to talk to me like he dose his Mandy and other person here when I didn't do a damm thing to him. He stated " bitch I'm going to talk to you how ever the fuck I want so shit the fuck up" Courtney then
My explanation somehow did not work well. I started struggling between my career and my father’s “career”. Before it was too late to decide my major, I gave a chance for myself and picked something related to my future career.
After I finished high school, I had no idea what profession I should pursue, I did not know what appealed to me, what is it that I wanted? But my predicament was ephemeral since my father always had a plan for me which I was not aware of. My father had a dream in his eyes soaring high since his formative college years, the dream to study law. He could never fulfill his desire because of financial issues—my father hails from a farming family—my grandfather only had enough resources to properly clothe and feed his 6 children, the possibility of providing a higher education to one of them was far-fetched and incomprehensible to him. But my father was never dissuaded, he worked hard and made himself the man who would provide all the opportunities for his children. He became the man who would live his dreams through his children.