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Pocket Pills

He thought himself the luckiest of boys. He had scored himself a pocket full of pills. Pills of all types. Pink ones and blue ones, and ones with silly numbers on them. He was all about mixing them for mysterious effects. He was careless and sloppy, broken hearted and reckless. Young and shattered. He cared little about what these pills might do to his fragile body and psyche. He only cared that the pills separated himself from all the torment he felt while left with his own raw thoughts and emotions.

That night he threw back a hand full of colors and numbers, daring fate to take his life if it dared. And it almost did. 

Mercy came in the middle of the cold winter night, in the form of a woman in white. Who whispered in his ear. 

"It's not your time yet my dear..."

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