Story

Yes or No
By Aimee Gibbs


Tape Recording: The feeling is so overwhelming. Addiction. To lose your child to something brought upon themselves, you can't do anything but blame yourself. Addiction. One of the deadliest neuropsychological disorders known to our kind. You must now face the same fate you have brought upon so many others, even yourself, an addict. Welcome, it is as simple as yes or no, and I will let you free. All of you have one thing in common, you have mentally destroyed children across the greater county. Providing countless life changing addictions to youth, to lead them down paths of destruction, pain, death. Congratulations, you reached your 5th day alone in my trap, now the fun begins, to begin your journey to escape, all you have to say is no.

Wayne, a 22 year old man, dropped out of high school at 16 and never looked back. He is homeless and sells drugs for more drugs. He lurks on younger minds to purchase from his demandingly increasing prices. He has no direct family alive, they all followed a similar path to him, he is hopeless and relies on opioids, specifically heroin, to feel like he is not going to die. The only thing he fears more than death, is not having any more substance.

I have been looking for him, I only knew his name from a bottle, it took me a very long time. Only to find this killer near death, on the street, after his common overdose occurrence.


Wayne wakes up in a room, handcuffed in the front, with a longer chain attached from the wall to the cuffs, the room is about 100 square feet.

Wayne says “What the fuck”

A latch opens a small hole in the wall, with a belt, a needle filled with heroin, and a tape recorder.

As he breaks into a sweat, anxiety rushing through his blood, without his dosage, the feeling of death creeps upon his neck, he needs to feel something, and he can't without heroin. Without playing the tape recorder, the near thought of feeling the needle breach his skin calms him more, he ties the belt around his arm, and injects himself without thinking twice about it. He lays down and passes out for 9 additional hours.

Wayne wakes up, with a lot more clarity, and is missing a finger. Though he feels numb to the pain, he is almost satisfied with losing a finger in this situation. Blood pooled beneath him, covering his shirt, he feels wheezy as he sits up, still damp. He stares at his palms, and can't help but thank the higher power that gave him this dosage of heroin, for him to feel titillating and out of body. He decides to play the tape recorder.


The tape recorder concludes. “Five days?” Wayne states, as he cant believe he was in a room alone, no food, no water, complete solitaire, without remembering a single thing. He realizes he had overdosed and was passed out for the entire duration, which explains the immediate withdrawal he faced, and the need for heroin so urgently. He is starving, and his mind can not stop wracking over the tape's statement. He thinks to himself, “Is this the prison? Is this hell? Did I die? How do they know this about me?”

As the empty room grows quieter, a door opens to his left, around 15 people wander a cafeteria-like room, significantly larger than what we shall call his cell. Some of the people, completely limbless, broke down to just their torsos and heads, but had a huge smile on their faces as Wayne entered.
Duncan, a man reduced down to just his arms and heads, tied together with cloth, with his heart and organs completely exposed, hanging beneath him. You can see every pump of his heart. Duncan approaches Wayne, walking with his arms, dragging his organs on the floors. “Welcome, this is your final stop” Duncan states. Wayne speechless, cant even find a scream within him, this feels completely okay to him, the heroin has not weared off from 9 hours ago. He decides to mingle in the cafeteria, asking many questions, getting zero answers.


Wayne does not know a lot, and will never know. I am Jigsaw, my son died at the age of 13, I gave Wayne a quarter everyday as I dropped my son off at school. Wayne had gained the trust of many of the school’s faculty and families, and would often speak as an example on why not to do drugs and how his life was ruined by them, an inspiration to many, but still homeless to what we thought.

Wayne had been selling drugs to all of the children at the school, starting off small. Edibles, cigarettes, weed. He gained their trust, but when he sensed money, he was quick to attack. My son gave in, he was weak, it is all my fault. Before I knew of this, my son overdosed on raw morphine. Dead.

I hate the homeless. I want them all to die.

I've gone through many addicts to finally find my Wayne, the fun can now begin.

“Number 22, youre the 22nd, 7 have either made it, or died, and theres 15 of us fuckers still pushing, most of us are satisfied with dying, I sure am, they wont let me. Theres nothing better than this man, I didnt have anything before, at least now, I have a meaning in all of the torture. I've tried saying no, it's not worth it, if you accept the fate now, it makes the pain easier.” exclaims Duncan.

Wayne is confused and rushes to return to his cell. It was horrific, it looked like a madhouse, missing arms, missing legs, missing torsos, missing cocks, missing feet. He can only begin to wonder as he looks down at his missing finger.

Night falls.

He is cold, he wakes up in his cell, shaking, craving heroin.

Peaceful music begins to play, but Wayne screams in agony, “NO I CANT BE HERE I SAY NO, NOW LET ME OUT NO NO NO FUCKING NO”. The latch opens, a belt, heroin in a needle, but no tape recording. He stares at the items in terrible pain.

“No,” he says.

7 hours pass, he keeps murmuring the word “No”, as he is crawled up into a ball, covered in his own blood still, he looks at his finger. His mind has already caved, as much as he refuses, he can't help it, he needs the heroin or he will die, the anxiety is creeping over him and the thought of losing another finger begins to make sense to him. He grabs the heroin and injects himself, no restraint even used.

He feels incredible, he's never felt better, this is the best feeling he's ever experienced in his painful 22 years alive. He kisses the ground and thanks whoever gave this to him. As he dozes off, finally feeling at enough peace to sleep, he wakes up before his eyes even shut, his hand missing, and blood covering him from head to toe. Yet once again, it was worth it to him.

The cafeteria door opens once more.

“You're still here? I thought, you know it's been a bit, I thought you said no, I thought you were stronger, but only a hand gone, you're lucky, most people after 3 days lose everything.” Duncan states.

Wayne wonders what he has been injecting himself with because what felt like 6 hours, was 3 days and a missing hand. It felt so incredible he could not even ponder it.

Food. Food is finally served, pounds of food pour from various holes in the ceiling. Wayne dives to start eating as all of the other limbless bodies laugh at his desperation, this is something they are used to. Wayne indulges, in what is mostly vegetables, loads of scrap food. After he finishes the last bits of what looks to be asparagus and olives, he looks up to everyone else finding a somewhat civil way of eating, as if they had a system in place. Wayne looks at his missing hand, disgusted. He realizes he looks like the monster, to all of these monsters.

Wayne has lost the concept of time, as he returns to his cell, he has no idea what time of day it is, or how long he truly has been here. No windows, no clocks, just the gray walls lined with eye sores for lights. To him, this is better than the life he knew.

Wayne wakes up, locked once more in his cell, to an open latch with heroin in a needle, no belt this time. “No,” he claims. This time, the cafeteria door opens, but the heroin remains in its place. He walks into the cafeteria, but many or missing, only 4 various discontortioned bodies remain, one being Duncan.

“Yes, it's worth it, YES.” screams Duncan. Duncan seems to know something that Wayne does not. What Wayne does not know, a month has passed. He is the solution to this trap, but the mental torture is at his expense.

A cycle continues, Wayne wakes up, takes the needle, and loses a limb.

He loses his toes, all 10. He loses an arm. He loses his ears. He loses his nose. Each time, he truly believes it was worth it. The temporary craving for his addiction always feels like the better option, to waking up covered in blood, missing a body part.

He walks out after an unstated amount of time, countless nights, unimaginable amount of days have passed. No one resides. The cafeteria is empty, food piled on the floor. He feasts as he thinks, “I want death.” For the first time, Wayne now values death. It means more to him, the one thing that means more to him than addiction. Death.

He returns to his cell for what he hopes is the final time. He screams “IS THIS IT, IS THE ESCAPE, THE FREEDOM, MY DEATH, THAT'S OKAY. I'M OKAY. I WANT TO DIE.”

The latch opens, but he has not had to lose a limb yet, this is different. The heroin needle stares him down, Wayne is locked in on the dosage, it's larger than normal. For once in his life though, he is ready to face death. The anxiety cripples up his back as he craves the heroin the more he stares at it. The fresh feeling of the needle piercing his skin. The warmth running through his body. To calm himself. He wants it.

Wayne wants death more. He is ready. I am ready.

“NO NO NO” he proclaims. I listen. The game can now begin.

The floor beneath him collapses as he falls into a dark pit. He can not see anything but Wayne hears intriguing scratches and moans. The lights turn on. 3 other, limbless men, surround him. They all said No, but that was only the beginning. Trapped in this gray room, seemingly locked, had a small whole directly in the middle of the ceiling.

A needle, filled with opioids, falls. The 3 other men dive for it, with whatever limbs they have available. All of them have at least 1 arm. A scrawnier man, with skinnier limbs, has the most limbs to his name, grabs the needle and stabs himself in the stomach, almost to not even enjoy the high it would give, but to just hurt himself. The scrawny man yells “I AM FREE”

The lights turn off, a siren sounds, the lights turn on. The man is decapitated.

His lifeless head stares eyes open, blood everywhere, nothing Wayne is not used to at this point.

3 remain.

Another heroin needle falls, this time Wayne goes for it too. He thinks “if they want it so bad, and it brings death, which is all that I crave, I need to follow what the scrawny man did, and die.”

Wayne tugs at it with a man with just an arm and a torso, whose face is a near shade of green, and throws that man across the room, slamming his diminished body into the wall. Wayne turns and before he can do anything about it, the 3rd man with an arm and 1 leg, bits the back of Wayne's neck, taking a massive amount of flesh from his body. Wayne screams in pain, and the 3rd man stabs himself in glory, as Wayne and the green faced man watch.

The lights turn off, a siren sounds, the lights turn on. The man is decapitated.

Blood is everywhere.

“What is worth? If you want death more, take it from me.” the green-shaded man states.

Wayne looks down, with both of us legs, both of his toe-less feet, one arm, and thinks, “Despite the holes in my head, gashing at all of my inner thoughts, I could survive, it’s not over for me yet.”

The agonizing mental torture of this trap, does he crave death more than life. What is worth it to him now?

The needle drops. Wayne freezes up. He chooses life. He lets the green-shaded man take the needle.

“What do I owe you? Is there anything I can do for you, one last time before I am free?” says the green man.

“No” states Wayne.

The green man stabs himself.

The lights turn off, a siren sounds, the lights turn on. The man is decapitated, from his poor excuse of a body he had remaining.

Blood covering every inch of the cell’s floor, another needle falls from the ceiling.

“NO NO NO.” Wayne yells, he wants out.

About an hour passes, The lights turn off, a siren sounds. Wayne flinches to lose his head.

He wakes up under a bridge, as if nothing ever happened. Except his limbs are still missing, the addiction he brought onto himself, and many children, drove him to choose drugs over his own body. Wayne looks down at his legs, which have now been cut to just below his knee caps. He begins to cry, the first tears he's shed this whole journey. As he cries, he attempts to wipe his tears, but his final arm is also completely missing. No arms, no legs, no ears, no nose. He stares mindlessly to look down between his legs, which was once on his lap, it's a needle, filled with heroin. He craves it so bad, all he wants is the warmth of heroin running through his body. He can no longer take the substance, as he no longer has hands to insert the needle into himself. The anxiety of death from having no heroin screams through his veins. Pain like no other, caused by addiction. A feeling of pain, torture, agony, and the feeling for Wayne is so overwhelming.