A few months after Sam finally quits heroine for good after a thousand and one excruciating attempts he falls in love with a girl.
The end.
There’s nothing else to say since you can probably already imagine the rest. Well, okay, I’ll start you off: she is more than just a girl in her mid-twenties, yet still a little bit less than a fully developed intellectual woman. She is a combination of Agatha Christie & Taylor Swift both wearing Kurt Cobaine’s clothes while on fire riding an enormous ferris wheel. Something you’d pay a lot of money to see and ride along with, or to stay far, far away from. Sam is in the former category since he is currently dying to witness and merge with a fundamentally different but equally valued state of desire to his own.
The woman in question, or answer, is named Slimdoozey. Yes, that’s her name. The one written on her birth certificate, maybe because her parents wanted her to always remember how original she is, but who really knows. Most of her friends just call her Dooze. She gets along splendidly with that name as it matches the conspicuousness and vibrancy of her character perfectly, something she regains and builds up through 8 years of staying stone cold stober to the point where she enters her frequent AA meetings with the zest of Lana Del Ray in her prime.
That story ends like you'd expect, in stunted tears for Sam after a month and change. He’s barely bothered to start his own recovery process before all his repressed feelings simultaneously throw their hats into the arena for the spectacular battle to be the primary motivational force in the human consciousness that is Sam. It’s all what he needs he tells himself; to have a catalyst for the internal pain and confusion to come bursting forth like a fountain of emotional trash, compost and recycling. Something, or in this case someone, that his life up-to-this-point can relate to and reflect a distorted version of itself, to his and her chagrin. For him to somehow find a way to sort through and dispose of accordingly or integrate and transmute. And for her to stay clear of.
Consider yourself lucky that I am not telling you the details of that story as it would bore you three quarters to death. The one that follows is actually of the thirteen women that, amongst others, Sam has physical and emotional relations with in the twelve years after his short time with Slimdoozey. The ones who, inadvertedly, propel him to the edge of the steep cliff he currently finds himself next to on this warm autumn evening. Relax, he just likes the view and the breeze here for meditating, while his heart pumps just a wee bit calmer but stronger from its close proximity to an only somewhat inviting sudden and exhilerating drop.
Krazan, Kjoanie, Kerika, Ktania, Ksophie, Kdara, Kcharlotte, Kmitra, Klaxmi, Klauren, Kveronica, Kcatherine & Kjuki. Those are the names of the thirteen women. The lucky or unlucky thirteen depending on how you look at it, though I'm sure they each have their own feelings on the matter. Each is beautifully complex, brilliant & attractive in their own way. Each with whom Sam joins and exchanges desires with in pursuit and mutual embodiment of love, or seeing each other, or a jumbled mixture of the two to form some semblance of an intimate relationship. To feel the sacred unity between masculine and feminine energies, within and without, and experience divinity to various degrees. Each experience unique in its own right, even when short-lived or in limited capacity or at times seemingly just for the sex and/or companionship.
This story is a simple one. In fact, to the soundtrack of a Tibetan singing bowl, it can best be expressed in one syllable:
Ommmmmmmmmmmmm.
Anything more about their adventure starts from there but is probably none of your business so I hope that satisfies you for now, faithful reader, otherwise you may have to come a little closer to the edge.
***Author’s note: The names in this story have been ridicuously changed to only partially protect the anonymity of the characters.***