Exclusive Excerpt from A Face without a Heart
by Rick R. Reed
Fog shrouds the streets near Lake Shore Drive. It rolls off the water from the lake, spreading like a virus. It’s a little after midnight on the eve of my thirty-eighth birthday. I suppose, more precisely, it is my thirty-eighth birthday. Spring around the corner. New beginnings. It’s been a new beginning for me now for seventeen years. Or at least to look at my face, that’s what one would think. Funny how the new and novel can grow trite and tiresome after a while.
I have tried, these years of my so-called adulthood, not to feel sorry for myself. How many others would kill to be in the position I find myself… perpetual youth and beauty. Ah, what could you do with that? It sets the brain synapses to firing, the fantasies to spinning. Isn’t it pretty to think so?
I don’t want to bemoan my situation. It has opened doors for me, but behind each door lurks a relentless darkness… a darkness, I fear, that would swallow me whole. Yet sometimes the prospect of that is tempting.
Everything tingles this frost-cloaked night. Tonight my veins have been shot full of heroin, my throat has admitted several tabs of Seven, and my nostrils have snorted up crystal meth… all of this washed down with vodka. I have consumed enough drugs and alcohol to kill another man, to at least make of him a withered creature, old beyond his years; yet I live on, robust, red-cheeked, the picture of youthful good health. Did I say picture? Continue reading