text: The tip of the syringe plummets into my skin, a sharp pinch clenching where the needle hits, I bring my thumb down on the plunger, forcing the chemicals into my body. Suddenly all the pain goes away, and my body is reduced to numbness, I feel outside of myself, a simple spirit being whisked away by the soft breeze flowing through my open window. It's beautiful. Uplifting, I don't know how I could live without it. Some may call this an addiction. Sure, I've lost friends to this, but they just don't understand how great it makes me feel. The chemicals spinning inside my bloodstream, lifting me out of all the pain from this world. They don't understand... Three years ago, depression and suicide was the world's biggest problem-And seller-Outnumbering all causes of death by a mile. years ago, when the average rate of suicide was a mere one every forty seconds, it climbed to one every twenty worldwide. Using this knowledge, corporate companies specialising in drugs skyrocketed as the demand of stronger antidepressants were increasing by the millions, so the companies decided to take a more illegal route, and started creating drugs that were less about reversing depression and more about distracting the users of the substance from it briefly. But each time you lost your high, you hit an extremely bad low, causing you to give into the drug another time, therefore creating addiction, and boosting the sales by the millions. The drug is called uplift, and is a hallucinogen, it takes you 'out of your body', and into a world of your own making, of course it was against the law though, so in a knee-jerk reaction, the UN condoned it as an illegal substance, and production of the drug was ceased. However, it found a way and is now the most used drug in all of history, there have been countless side effects listed, and still countless to be found. This is why my body is lying in a dry bathtub, my clothes soaked in sweat, and my sprit drifting off into another world. One of the effects that uplift has is to make you hallucinate an entirely different world than that of yours. It blurs the lines between imagination and fiction, creating the person of your dreams per se, or taking you to a place of your own creation. Right now, as I gaze upon my passed out body, I feel the hairs on my neck stand up, I glance behind me to see an open field of corn, crows squawk in the distance, circling a lone scarecrow, its tattered coat rising in the soft breeze. I slowly walk up to the scarecrow, stealing a quick glance behind me, only to see my bathroom replaced with an infinite abyss of corn fields. I've had many experiences with this drug, probably more than I should have, but this is unlike anything I've ever had, it feels so real. I cautiously walk up to the scarecrow, the sockets in its face stare into my very being, making me shiver. beside the mess of straw and rags is a small coffee table with a knife on top. its blade beckons me, mocks me, its shiny surface tempting me. my hand reaches for the hilt of the knife, it's hilt, cold under my skin. It's so real. I weigh the knife in my hand and look at it longingly, suddenly the blade takes control of my hand, and slowly edges itself until the tip of the knife lightly stops at the torso of the scarecrow. The urge becomes too great for me to handle. I bring the knife back beside my face. I know this isn't real, but something feels so wrong. Before I could give it a second thought, my eye catches that of the scarecrow's, it speaks to me, do it. I drive the knife into it's torso, suddenly a sharp pain shoots through my side, my hands try to grasp the pain, but they do not move, the scarecrow speaks to me again. More. I twist the knife inside its stomach, retrieving a feeling of twisting pain deep inside my own stomach in return. It hurts so bad. But I can't stop. I need more. I slide the knife out of the ragged beast, and am rewarded with a sight of blood gleaming from the silver blade. A grin spreads across my face. Again and again and again I drive the knife into it's stomach, ignoring the constant pain erupting all throughout mine, specks of blood fly all around me, I catch some in my mouth, the metallic taste fuelling my bloodlust evermore. I hurl the knife into its stomach again, and am rewarded with yet another stab of pain, I let out a cry as I finally fall to my knees. I continue smiling through the pain. The voice echoes through my mind again. Finish it. I look up to the scarecrow's chest, and feel the pulsing of its heart as if it's my own. "Yes" I say, a sudden wave of twisted joy washing through my entire being. I rise the knife to its chest and let out a final scream, plummeting it into the soft skin of the scarecrow's rags. Suddenly the world goes blank. The last thing I see is my limp body on the kitchen floor, soaked in blood with my hands clamped around the knife implanted in my chest, the grin still printed on my face.