Apollo's Fire [Rhino Writing Contest #3]

The bass thumped inside Apollo’s ears over and over, again and again, unrelenting. Even his nose hairs bounced to the filthy groove. Green lasers shimmered and glided over the crowd of gyrating zombies. Apollo’s body swayed along with them; they were all one with the music. There was no melody; only the bass and distorted drum cut through with syncopated bliss.

Apollo glanced behind him. His two friends had their eyes closed and were obeying the beat. Apollo joined them and shut his eyes, but his movements started to feel cold and angular. The elation was wearing off. The warm glow was gone. The drug had lost its potency. The smell of body odour turned from familiar to vile. Sweat mingled with sweat, topped off with a dash of sweat. Strobe lights pulsated, the heat of throbbing bodies flared. His left ear fizzled and cracked. The witching hour had come, claustrophobia set in. His feet felt stuck to the sticky dance floor. A moment of clarity. Gotta get the fuck out. Apollo snaked his way through the disgusting sweaty bodies.

He burst out of the hot club. Rain pelted his scalp. A cool and welcome gift. His ears adjusted to the sound of the now distant droning bass mixed with the low hum of hovercraft nearby. A sharp pain stabbed him. The drug had almost completely worn off. He clutched at his lower back and slumped forward, the rain cascading over him, now more oppressive rather than liberating. He massaged the sore spot, but that wouldn’t do. He needed a fix.

Apollo approached a dark figure close to the club’s doors.

“Hey man, you got any mem-opies? And some downers?”

“Yeah, I got you.” The dealer reached inside his trench coat and fished out a small clear baggie filled with blues and reds.

Apollo keyed in the necessary token amount on his mobile and handed it to the dealer. He closed his fist on the drugs. The plastic felt right in his palm, the back of his mind anticipating relief. Pain seared and twisted his torso.

“Hey man, you okay?”

Am I okay?

“Yeah man. I’m fine.”

Apollo slunk away to hide his misery. He reached under his shirt and massaged the sore spot again. His hand drifted to the other side of his back. Familiar stitches. A stolen kidney, care of a trustworthy dealer. At least the guy left the shitty one intact and a few pills before he scrammed. That was nice of him.

Apollo slumped against a metal wall and popped open the baggie. His trembling hands guided two blue pills into his mouth. The kidney quieted down but he felt stretched out; too many uppers, too many downers, just too much for one night. But the pills helped, at least a little, at least for a bit.

The club’s pulsating bass was now distant. So were the memories of his friends in there. Dumb junkies.

A familiar vision materialized, helped along by the dullness of the downers. Kind brown eyes. Long black hair. A smile that could thaw the coldest heart. When was the last time he talked to her? Had it been months, years? Time was blurry. She was the dealer with big, gentle, brown eyes. You never see them like that anymore.

Lizzy.

Apollo slunk back to the dealer.

“Hey man, you know Lizzy? Dark hair, big beautiful brown eyes.” His speech was slurring.

“Look, Lizzy’s great, but I can get you a synth-kidney for a much cheaper price than she can.” The dealer’s grin, illuminated by yellow neon lights, looked like an evil cartoon caricature.

Sure, cut me open and take my other kidney.

“You’d really help me out if you could give me her contact info. Please, man.”

The dealer laughed. “Get the fuck outta here, junkie.”

After a while, you get used to being shit on. He heard the dealer’s laugh cut through the rain behind him. It was a short float back to the apartment pod.

He used his thumbprint to open the door. Now to the task at hand. He was one of the last people that still kept paper notes: scribblings, stories, drawings. The little notes, they were dark and twisted. But something shone through them, some glimmer of hope, at least that’s why he must have still been writing and drawing them all these years. He raced around the room, opening drawers and dumping boxes of notes.

“What the fuck man? What’s with all the noise?” Andy’s bedroom door swished open. He stood in the doorway with only his underwear on.

“Sorry bro, I gotta find something.”

“It’s always something. Let me sleep, goddamit. Some of us have to work in the morning.”

“I just have to find her mobile man. Lizzy, yeah, that was her name...”

Andy shook his head. “I’m worried about you. You’ve been doing too much. Take some suppressants like the rest of us working stiffs and get some rest. And keep it down.” The bedroom door swooshed close.

Apollo had never burdened Andy with his worries. He didn’t dare. He didn’t want to push him away, or bother him with his bullshit. He needed his brother in his corner and telling him about his bum kidney, well that wasn’t an option.

His hand fumbled with a big piece of paper. It was a sci-fi short story he had written years ago, something about robots and aliens. Not bad. Then he found a drawing of an astronaut surrounded by blue fields of grass. Not bad at all. Beacons of hope surrounded by mad ramblings. A dull smile spread over his lips. Then he found it, the note.

Lizzy. Her number.

A twinge of pain shot through his back. The pills had lost their luster.

Apollo fished the plastic baggie out of his pocket and laid it on the coffee table beside the note. The red mem-opies can wipe one’s memory for hours, sometimes days if dosed right. His hand rested on a VR headset. Wipe your memory, enter a new world, forget the past for a little while. The note, and where it would lead, was nothing like that.

The sun fought through thick plumes of pollution and spread a faint red hue on the living room floor. It illuminated the stories and drawings, the madness scattered everywhere. At last, he felt the discomfort of his damp clothes. He stripped, and slid into a black force feedback suit. He put the red pills in his hand.

I’ll find her, but now, I need to go, just for a little bit, just one more time, just one more time.

Apollo’s memories started to fade. Full immersion began.

---

This is my entry for @carolkean's Rhino Writing Contest #3.

Thank you to all the great editors at the Writers' Block who made editing suggestions on this piece.

Though set in a fictional sci-fi world this story is very personal, touching on some of the addiction issues I faced in the past. I will most likely continue this story, perhaps serialized or some other format.

Thank you for reading and please leave a comment if you enjoyed it.

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