Warning: The following fiction is rated R for violence and drug reference. Readers discretion is advised.
She sat in the large lecture hall, bored and completely unamused with the professors chemistry lesson. The room was full of the ambitious and hard-working. They gathered to listen to the dry blathering of an educated bafoon. How fucking pointless.
She cracked open the Altoids canister from the front pocket of her leather bag. Inside where fifteen round red tabs. She picked one out of the canister and touched it to the tip of her tongue. And she smiled and waited.
"This is a crystalline substance," the professor droned. "They come in many shapes and sizes." He held up a large molecular model made from colorful iron sticks and wooden spheres. As he gestured to the model, the edges and corners of it began to melt like wax to a flame.
"The reaction entirely depends on the type of substance. If we create a precipitate, what does that signify?" The short strands of the professor's hair began to drip from his head and splatter noisily on the tile floor. His speech started to distort to slow lulls of an inhuman groan.
"What does this reaction mean?" It means this isn't a war on drugs, it's a war on personal freedom, she thought.
No one turned to the back of the room when the slow giggle emerged from the girl. No one even noticed her reach into the leather bag again and wrap her earnest fingers around a cold silver handgun. As she watched the world fall to pieces, she tilted the barrel of the gun to the roof of her mouth, and pulled the trigger. Twice.
------ I am Jack's wasted life.
I'd like to thank the Academy...