Summery: A stoned Joren reflects his life and recounts the beginning of the end. Welcome to Joren's head, otherwise known as hell. A songfic using Godsmack's Voodoo.

NOTE: Very DDA-Dark, depressing, angst. Heavy material, hence the R rating. I advise you now-do NOT read this!

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Joren moved slowly, covering the distance between his door and bed languidly and quietly. No one must hear him; it wouldn't do for anyone to find out that he did hard drugs. Sure he could get kicked out of training, but more importantly he would be sent to a place far, far away where he could never get his hands on the crap again. He couldn't live without his weekly smoke-outs of pot; it would kill him. He needed it to keep him going, how else could he escape from reality? What with the rest of his life being so messed up, all he had to look forward to was getting high. Pretty pathetic. But hey, he was desperate. And getting stoned felt like a million nobles. Well, maybe not a million, actually maybe if was really more like dirt if anything, but what was there to do when you just had to get away from it all? It was a good enough of an answer for him.

Joren was stoned, yet again, the third time this week. He kept promising himself that he'd stop but he never actually listened to the screaming voice inside his head telling him to. It was just so much easier to say screw that. Just let go and float away. Far away. Away from problems and reality.

The only problem was, he had run out of stock. Blurry eyed he counted the dough he had left, just enough for a kilo of crack. His father had sent him money expecting to the buy the drugs, how else would he have had the cash? No kid just got a giant wad of money for midwinter from their parents. Every one of them was on limited budget. Except for him. Wasn't he just special. His father was an even bigger druggie than him-if that was possible. He thoroughly encouraged his son to follow in his footsteps too. And so Joren had! Why not right, nothing to loose. If his father said so, it must be right. Even if the first time he had been kind of reluctant to try it…they'd been given lectures at the palace over and over again on this sort of thing, a new class called 'human development.' But his father had sad screw the lectures; it's all crap. Welcome to the real world son.

Flashback:

A young Joren peered through the door of his father's bedroom, watching with baited breath as the daily ritual proceeded. His eyes widened as he watched, and without knowing so he hissed in a small breath of shock. He hadn't known what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it. His intake of air was heard. A hazy voice called, "who's there?"

Joren tried to shut the door and get away, but he was too slow. A figure three heads taller wrenched the door open and pulled him inside, shutting it again.

"So it's you boy, why didn't you answer your old man?"

Joren rubbed the spot where his father had grabbed his arm and whimpered slightly, looking down. He knew he was spying on him, and he knew it was wrong. He was half expecting his father to smack him upside the head for it any moment. He shut his eyes tightly, actually hoping for the blow. Usually his father was too preoccupied getting high to pay much attention to him. Even if it was only hitting him-at least it was acknowledging his existence.

But to his surprise his father chuckled crazily, "Joren my boy, this is a very special day for you."

Joren's eyes peered open.

"It's the day you become a man my son!"

"Aw dad-I'm only ten." He answered sheepishly, looking down at his bare feet. He never had shoes. He had no mother to buy them for him. Only his father, who spent all his days locked up in his room ignoring reality.

"Ten's old enough…now here, watch me." The voice was beyond sanity.

The boy watched in fascinated rapture as his father smoked his drugs. It was amazing to such a young boy with such a soft impressionable young mind, look at that look on his fathers face! His eyes…they said it all. His father passed the marijuana pipe to him, adding a go on, 'try it.' Joren hesitantly looked at the wooden instrument in his hand. He wanted to know where is father went when he had that look on his face…and he wanted to join in with something his father was doing. Like most kids, who went hawking with their dads. Maybe this was a hobby or something they could share…Joren put one end of the pipe in his mouth.

The very first time was a shocker. It was nothing like he had expected. He felt far away from everything, like he was living in a bubble. A happy, rose-colored iridescent bubble. His mother was alive there, smothering him in kisses. His father was congratulating him, hugging him, paying attention to him. Everything was wonderful. There were no stubbed toes from lack of footwear, no bruises from the older boys who beat him up because of his girlish appearance, no father completely ignorant of his mere existence. No nothing. Just a far off never-never land.

Joren swore to God that if it hadn't been for his father he'd be a good person. Really, he wasn't all that bad, but it was the drugs that had corrupted him. Once he was hooked he was like a desperate cadged animal; he couldn't live with out them. They were his very life, his very soul. Without them he'd surely die. There was no life after drugs.

And the drugs were wonderful. They were the thing that kept him sane even while he floated away in his bubble, the thing he looked forward to each night. But he had paid a heavy price. His humanity.

The constant dependence made him bitter. He knew, in his heart of hearts that he'd never survive if it weren't for the drugs. And he hated that feeling of being needy, and desperate. It had made him despise all the people that could depend on themselves and only themselves. Maybe that's why he hated Keladry so much.

She didn't need anybody or anything. And for that, Joren envied her, and admired her, and hated her.

I'm not the one who's so far away

His head snapped up as he suddenly remembered that he had to get to dinner. He didn't want to go, and face all those happy peppy people who think they have a life, but are really just existing day by day. No, he was the only one with a real life. But damn them all, they didn't know that! Only he knew, only he could see the truth. And he wished, for one brief second, that he didn't. Because quite frankly, the truth scared the holy shit out of him.

~

~*Saphron*~

Song is Voodoo by Godsmack. Seriously creepy song. And they own it, not me. Joren is TP's.

Ok--well, that was certainly different. I usually don't write stuff so dark. Actually I do, but I never post. I seriously think if I did some of you little children would be traumatized for life. No offense or anything-just not a lot of people can handle it.

Treading on taboo territory here.

Another thing--I apologize if I got something wrong. I've never done drugs before, so some of my info might be wrong. I just wrote this from what I got from Human Development (which isn't much) and…my friend. *Sighs* This is for him, the poor bastard. Based on his life. His dad really did get him into drugs…*sighs* it's really sad. How can parents actually do that to their kids? Well, this is for him anyhow. He was inspiration. This is his favorite song.