My heart is racing, and my brain is trying to pry itself out of my head. I can’t take it anymore. Will it be enough for my rations? Please, my head will burst without it. I am working harder, but it is more difficult now. I need more of it every day. I know I should take it wisely, and yet my shaking, migraines, and sweating are getting worse. It’s like an unseen hand that makes sure we obey. The line is moving slowly as I catch my own reflection in a small puddle, but instead of my reflection, I see desperation. My heart is pounding in rapid cycles as I get closer to the end of the line. My legs tap, sweat getting colder.

"Next," the officer said.

"Your name?" the dispenser said.

"Henry Smack," I said. Please be enough.

The dispenser, in his black uniform with a golden emblem in the shape of an empty circle, took off his glasses and looked at me with a dull expression. "Looks like you are lacking a few points."

My body twitched. "Please, I need it. Can you perhaps turn a blind eye for a fellow comrade?"

"You should work harder, Craver," the officer said.

"Please..."

Sharp pain strikes my stomach, and my knees fail to stay straight; they bend, hitting the ground. The office is standing above me. His expression tells it all with his smirk.

“You want your rations. Here, drink it.” He takes an ampule and unscrews it, slowly spilling the orange liquid to the ground.

My eyes widen. “Thank you, sir. I knew you were good, sir.”

My head drops to the ground, pausing for a brief moment before my tongue tastes a mix of salt, sweat, and sour orange liquid. Grateful for each lick. Grateful for their mercy. I used to laugh at people like this, and now I thank them when they treat me like this. Stone pavement cools my tongue as I drink every drop of the precious liquid. I clean the water around it, too, just to be sure. With the last suck. I am pathetic. Acting like an animal against my will, against my pride if there is any left. I don’t want to do this, but I must. I don’t even know if I hate myself more or them.

They laughed. "Work harder next week if you want another dose, Craver." The officer kicked me and pointed.

“Thank you, sir,” I say, as my heartbeat gets slower, my sweat warmer, my shaking stops, and my head stops in its attempt to escape from my body. Why do I even thank them? Do animals thank us when we lock them in a cage? Please free me from this torment. I can’t stop; I can’t continue. Either way, they will win; they always do.

My phone rings, and I see Kyle’s message. Why am I even meeting him? I don’t want to. He doesn’t want to. I sigh and try to figure out what to do before my mind falls back into oblivion. There must be a way to get help from him. Leave these worries for another time; Do your best for now.

I wander back to the end of the infinite line, looking at people's sweaty, dull, empty faces. In half of them, I see the face of pointless waiting. The craving for something they will not get. Hollow pleasure that is driving you into your primal instincts.

As I leave the place of despair, I walk through decaying streets filled with broken people lying on them, just waiting to be taken away to work for nothing but their drugs. Because a sober man is defiant, an addicted man is obedient. Everyone knows it, yet nothing stops it. We try, but they just cut us out, and in a couple of days, we come crawling back, begging for another dose. Selling everyone and everything. Selling ourselves and our pride for a short period of relief. Empty roads and abandoned buildings, cracking and crying for help as the wind smashes into them. Passing by old posters covered with mud, “Work, Crave, Comply,” as I get closer to the pub.

The smell of cigars and bad alcohol fills my nose as I enter. People are drinking themselves into oblivion. Many think replacing it with something else will help them. I am not so sure about it. I scan the room for Kyle, but he is nowhere to be found. Sitting in the corner and thinking about how I helped them when they took over. They were both broken, but she couldn’t bear it. He could have done something—anything—instead of just watching as she lost her sanity. I think she knew what was going to happen. They both did. He is doing this because he thinks I blame him for my sister’s death, for his wife’s death—and he is right. And here I am, begging him just to survive another day. It's pathetic. I am pathetic.

“Hello, Henry,” Kyle said, in his grey suit and with his golden ring on his finger.

“Hello, Kyle, please sit down.”

“Three years.”

“What?”

“Since we last met. You know I cannot help you.”

“Please, I have nothing.  Do you want me in a labour camp so badly?”

“Do you remember what I told you last time. If they find out, and they will, my life will end. I can´t give it to you.”

“Easy for you to say. You don´t have to take that shit to survive. Just to make it to the next day.”

Kyle looks away. “You think I want to do this? I don’t have a choice, neither do you.”

“Stop this, you cock sucking prick, living in a big house with a car. They just give to anyone these days, I suppose.”

“Look... I have a job for you in two days, it will give three weeks of rations, but you have to show up.”

“In two days, in two days, I will be lucky to get out of bed.”

“I can´t help you otherwise.”

“So you will just watch as another member of my family goes crazy. Did you ever love her? Did she mean nothing to you? Again, just watching. I liked you. We drank together, watched movies, and made stupid jokes. We... no, she gave you hope when you were at your lowest point, and you did nothing when she was at hers. You are the worst piece of shit I have ever met.”

“Henry, please... You don´t understand.”

“Understand what. I understand you sold her, just to have a better life than the rest of us. I understand that you don´t care about the rest of us. You don´t even help the last person who was close to you. I hope you will have a great life, not like the rest of us. Enjoy your big house.” I stand up, getting ready to go out.

Kyle looks down at his feet. "Henry... I am more addicted than you can imagine."

“Please spare me this nonsense. Is that the reason you can´t even give me one or two?”

“No”

"Then there is nothing to talk about, bye."

A grey, cloudy sky watches me as I storm out of the pub. What am I thinking? There are no happy endings in this world. You either obey or survive. This is my endpoint. I try, I fail, maybe a labour camp will not be that bad. Maybe giving up is better. What can I lose if there is anything to lose? I chuckle, tears dropping to the ground. I want to go back to when everything was colourful, full of people and cars. When people smiled, when people made wonders. Just relax for a while, stare at the sky without worries. To love. To escape prison without borders, without walls, without guards. Maybe if I stay far away in the deep forest, I could survive long enough to get rid of this curse. You fool, even dreaming is painful; the best thing I can do is to give up. There is no escape, there is no hope. Just go home, you fool. They win, they always do.

I walk home and stand outside my door with my shaky hands. Struggling to unlock it, I go inside to my putrid apartment. The floor cracks under my feet as I approach my bed. I fall into it and lie there. Sweat gets colder, and my head tries more and more to escape. Is this how it ends? Time passes as my symptoms get worse. Just let it happen, what can be worse than this hell? “No, you want it. The sweat tastes the relief, the peace.” Leave me alone, please. “Every problem will go away. You know where to find that traitor — have it. He doesn’t need it, but you do. Lying to you, refusing to help. He is not your friend —never was, and never will be.” No, please don’t do this to me. “Say you want it.” Nails are piercing my head as my heart pounds rapidly. I scream in refusal. Tears sail into my wet bed. Please... Please. “Go get it.” I stand up, shaking. I go to the door, half wet, and grab a knife on my way outside.

Street lights flicker as I go through the dark, empty streets. A cold breeze licks my wet clothes. Why am I doing this? There must be another way. No, he deserves it, keeping it for himself. Selfish prick who cares about no one. Letting me suffer while in his house. Who does he think he is? Couldn’t even save my sister; he did it. I come to his door, stare at a knife before hiding it. I ring and wait for him, but there's no answer. I smash it. Does he think he can ignore me?

“Henry... you look terrible,” Kyle said, still half asleep.

“Heh, you think... ”

“Henry... I can´t, you know, I can´t.”

“I was lucky to even get here. please”

“Go home, Henry.”

I stare at him for a while, thinking about what to do. This is not me. “No, you are so close, come and get what's yours.”

“Henry, go home! I can´t help”

What am I doing?

“You didn´t deserved her.”

“Enough of this nonsense. I had an offer for you, but you refused.”

Tightening my fist and lunging it at his face. He cries out, covering his face and tripping over, falling to the ground.

“You think you are better.”

I take out a knife and look at it before closing my eyes and plunging it into his side, twisting it.

"Please stop," Kyle cried out.

Warm liquid bathes my fingers as my heavy breath escapes.

“Where is it?”

“Upstairs in my bedroom”

“Was it hard?” I said and started walking to the stairs

“Henry... wait”

“What!”

“I want you to know. I tried to save her, but she couldn´t live with it, with what we did.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Before this, before this silence coup. They drugged us and forced us to cooperate. We didn´t know their plan. She could not bear to see what we helped to do. She lost it. I tried to help, but she went too far, and they killed her. I am sorry.”

“You think this crying of yours will change what you did?”

Tears were dropping from Kyle's face.

“You are right... Please... kill me. They win, they always do.”

“You are pathetic,” I say and stab him in the neck.

Going upstairs for what is mine, entering his clean bedroom. Looking around, it must be inside a safe. What is the combination? Damn him, playing with me even after his death. Maybe their wedding date. 29 04 87—nothing. Think, what else could it be? Maybe his birthday. No, that´s stupid. His lucky numbers, perhaps. No, that’s not either. What could mean so much to him. 16 01 91—it opened, yes. Orange liquid gold, shining from inside—yes. Grabbing three of them, chugging them in a row, sour-sweet relief. My heart is calming down, my head is getting tired in its attempt to escape. Where am I? My eyes widened in realization. Rushing downstairs. Kyle's body is in a red pool. No, Kyle, I am sorry. Water is escaping from my eyes in shame. Why, you could give me at least one. Forgive me. Please. You are with her now. Slowly removing a knife from his neck and holding it, staring at it. I can't... I can't even kill myself. With my hand, I throw it away. "Why couldn't you just give me one?" You fool, couldn't you do it at least once? Couldn't I resist at least once? Driven by lust for this curse. I guess we both just wanted to survive. Lying on the floor with my hand over my face. There are no happy endings, you told me once. I was a fool for not believing you back then.