Shantaram by
Gregory David Roberts, 2003 Exceprts
He brought what I asked for – a steel spoon,
distilled water, disposable syringes, heroin, and a carton of cigarettes – and
he set the items out on the little dresser. I cooked up a taste of heroin. The
dose sat in the syringe for almost an hour. I picked it up and put the needle
against a fat, strong, healthy vein in my arm. The damnation drug, the drug
that had driven me to commit stupid, violent crimes; that had put me in prison;
that had cost me my family, and lost my loved ones. The everything-and-nothing
drug: it takes everything, and gives you nothing in return. But the nothing
that it gives you, the unfeeling emptiness it gives you, is sometimes all and
everything you want.
I pushed the needle into the vein, pulled back the
rose of blood that confirmed the clean puncture of the vein, and pressed the
plunger all the way to the stop. Before I could pull the needle from my arm, it
made my mind like the Sahara. Warm, dry, shining, and featureless, the dunes of
the drug smothered all thought, and buried the forgotten civilization of my
mind. The warmth filled my body, killing off the thousand little aches,
twinges, and discomforts we endure and ignore in every sober day. There was no
pain, there was nothing.
Flood of Fire by Amitav Ghosh, 2016, Excerpt
Then
Mr. Chan said, ‘We’re almost ready now, Mr. Reid. When I roast the opium again
it will catch fire. The smoke will last for one or two seconds. You must be
prepared – you must blow out your breath, emptying your chest so you can draw
in all the smoke. When the opium begins to burn I will put it on the dragon’s
eye’ – he pointed to the tiny hole in the pipe’s octagonal cup – ‘and you must
draw hard.’
Zachary
had already emptied the air from his chest: when the flaming pellet was placed
on the ‘dragon’s eye’ he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the smoke. Its
consistency was almost that of a liquid, dense, oily and intensely perfumed; it
poured into his body like a flood, coursing through his veins and swamping his
head.
As
he leant back against the cushions Zachary suddenly became aware of his pulse –
except that it wasn’t beating only in his wrist or his neck. It was as if his
whole body were pulsating; the drumming of his heart was so powerful that he
could feel his blood surging into his capillaries. The sensation was so strong
that he looked down at his forearm and saw that his skin had changed color. It
was flushed and red, as if every pore had been awoken and irradiated.
He
looked up at the ceiling and suddenly it was as if his eyes had become more
sensitive, his gaze more powerful. He could see minute cracks in the wood; his
hearing too seemed to have become more acute and the lapping of water was loud
in his ears. He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feeling of weightlessness,
allowing the smoke to carry him away, as if on a tide.