Peter had on a short sleeved oversized white button up, loose straight legged khakis and scruffy brown loafers. He had never learned to tie a tie, he wore a black clip on. Green was always his colour, it matched his eyes, but his uniform was the colours of the bleached clean walls of an insane asylum, painted not to upset the patients.
“Hot out today. Thirsty.” Peter said as he placed the two 40 ounce bottles of Stella Artois and a package of American spirit cigarettes by the cash register. The petite attendant with short blonde hair nodded but didn’t look up.
“You know, you look like someone I knew a long time ago.” Peter said, fumbling for his credit card deliberately. “They say the past is a different world.” he said.
“Sir your card has been declined.”
“Try this one.” Peter said and produced another credit card absently.
The attendant rang him through and Peter lingered there for a moment looking at her with a gentle ache in his eyes.
“Im sorry…” He said
“Your card? No need to apologize sir, it happens all the time, next customer please.”
“for what I did to you, for everything.” His voice shook.
At home in his chair staring at the wall, Peter dropped the second bottle on the floor. Two bottles of Stella wasn’t enough to get him away from here. To get him back there. He got out of his chair and went to the drawer for the last of it. He sprinkled the dust onto a spoon and held it over a lighter. It wasn’t the anticipation of the hit, or the release after it flooded his bloodstream, it was the prick of the needle that joined it all together.
Twenty years had passed since he had gotten a job and bought this home. Another ten since Wendy had left him. He didn’t know when his two children had started to hate him. But he was flying now. He sank back into his chair and drifted back to Never Never Land.
Matthew Cameron 
Peter had on a short sleeved oversized white button up, loose straight legged khakis and scruffy brown loafers. He had never learned to tie a tie, he wore a black clip on. Green was always his colour, it matched his eyes, but his uniform was the colours of the bleached clean walls of an insane asylum, painted not to upset the patients.
“Hot out today. Thirsty.” Peter said as he placed the two 40 ounce bottles of Stella Artois and a package of American spirit cigarettes by the cash register. The petite attendant with short blonde hair nodded but didn’t look up.
“You know, you look like someone I knew a long time ago.” Peter said, fumbling for his credit card deliberately. “They say the past is a different world.” he said.
“Sir your card has been declined.”
“Try this one.” Peter said and produced another credit card absently.
The attendant rang him through and Peter lingered there for a moment looking at her with a gentle ache in his eyes.
“Im sorry…” He said
“Your card? No need to apologize sir, it happens all the time, next customer please.”
“for what I did to you, for everything.” His voice shook.
At home in his chair staring at the wall, Peter dropped the second bottle on the floor. Two bottles of Stella wasn’t enough to get him away from here. To get him back there. He got out of his chair and went to the drawer for the last of it. He sprinkled the dust onto a spoon and held it over a lighter. It wasn’t the anticipation of the hit, or the release after it flooded his bloodstream, it was the prick of the needle that joined it all together.
Twenty years had passed since he had gotten a job and bought this home. Another ten since Wendy had left him. He didn’t know when his two children had started to hate him. But he was flying now. He sank back into his chair and drifted back to Never Never Land.
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