Donnie

Donnie pushed the needle into his forearm. Liquid ice shoots up the veins and capillaries. A sense of relief gripped him as he fell into the musty brown chair, dust particles flying from the cushion.

He had been living at the quaint little shithole for the past month, and so far nobody had bothered him. The place was an abandoned apartment on 33rd street, Donnie’s palace of termites. The chair sat in the corner by the bay window, white paint peeling on the walls behind it. Bottles and garbage lined the floors and the room had a sour odour of urine.

As Donnie sat and revelled in his high, he thought about skyscrapers. Great glass structures towering over the city, he knew one day one day he would sit on his throne in the sky.

A series of pops crackled in Donnie’s temple. A sharp pain meandered through to the back of his skull. As neuron centers split in his brain, he crashed onto the ground writhing in pain. Blackness shrouded over his sight, and he fell unconscious. It was over as quickly as it began.

Hours later, he awoke in a puddle of his own piss. Although he was not aware of it, the course of his life had forever changed. It was only a matter of time before Donnie would acquire his kingdom.

The old Chevrolet started up with a putt and a roar. Donnies only material possession still worth money, the old Chevelle was his last show of pride in this world. The black paint was beginning to fade, and the red leather seats were torn at the seems. It still attracted a lot of attention though, and mixed with his handsome sharp features he didn’t have any trouble picking up women. Even in his tattered black denim jacket and hole-ridden blue jeans, Donnie created a presence around women. When he walked into bars, women would thinking about running their fingers through his black, curly hair.

He drove up 33rd street to the liquor store on the corner. His head was pounding and he had changed out of his stinking clothing. The neon lights above the door were usually a sign to Donnie that everything was going to be okay. He didn’t feel that way today.

In fact today something didn’t feel right at all. For the most part Donnie dealt with life by drinking and heroin. That hunger just wasn’t there today, the ebb and flow of depression and anxiety had faded.

He sat in the car and realized he wanted something more, that the booze and the drugs just wouldn’t cut it anymore. Something had changed, something he didn’t understand. He didn’t crave the self destruction that had been his life so far, he craved power.

 

It took 3 months for Donnie to save up enough money from bottles to buy the real estate licence. It took another 4 years to build up his business and client base. From there he moved onto investment banking and hedge funds. In a matter of 15 year Donnie had become one of the richest, most powerful men in the world.

He now wore an expensive blue suit, with a golden tie and silver cufflinks. His hair was combed back neatly and formally, and his good looks were shining at their full potential.

When Donnie was killed in the car accident, he had 102 billion dollars to his name, and had saved over half the planet from poverty. Statues lined museums dedicated to him, and his name was known by any living person.

A dissection of the greatest man whoever lived was performed hours after his death. Everyone wanted to know what it was that set Donnie apart from the rest.

The fear and pain centers in Donnie’s brain had been fried from his heroin overdose.

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