Using a key, I unlocked the door and entered the apartment. The room was dark. The little light that seeped in through the windows was just enough to make out shapes. Dressed all in black - combat trousers, t-shirt and a ski-mask over my face - I negotiated my way through his flat.

     I assumed electricity would have been installed and connected by now, however I couldn't risk switching on any lights. With every step I took, I knew what I was doing was wrong. I was breaking and entering into a police officer's home but the anger that raged through me, masked feelings of guilt and fear of being caught. It was time to rid me of my demons. I wanted justice.

     Hanging in the empty living room, was the haunting silhouette of his punch-bag. Expecting the apartment to have had been properly furnished by now, I felt a little taken back by how similar it all still seemed. Although I could not make out if the walls had now been painted, I got the impression the flat was very bare. As I made my way through the room, the only furniture I came acrossin my ame across was, what seemed to be, a small two-seater couch.

     There was an eerie sense as I slowly approached the punch-bag. Placing my hand upon it, I recalled the evening I had been brought there, five years earlier:

     ‘See how I live,' the drug squad officer had said. ‘I'm like the guys you see in movies.'

     He punched the middle of the bag with might, denting the material as it flung backwards and then swung to and fro, suspended by a chain that hung from the ceiling.

     ‘I'm not like the pussies you English kids are used to,' he continued, ‘I'm a tough motherfucker you don't want to mess with. '

     My fingers slipped away from the worn leather and my hand fell to my side. Standing in the middle of the dark room, I closed my eyes, taking a moment to calm my nerves and focus.

     Opening them slowly, I looked about the dark. From where I was standing, I could make out the shape of the bedroom entrance, on the other side of the room.  I walked towards it. As I drew closer, I noticed there was no door. Shadows were lining the floor and walls of the open doorway. There seemed to be a faint light coming from within.

     Entering cautiously, I could see the bedroom window had been installed. There was no curtain however and the moonlight illuminated part of the room.  Not much else had changed it seemed. On the floor was the mattress, next to which sat a hi-fi in the corner. Either side of the mattress were speakers. One was situated on the left side, on top of the hi-fi, and another on the other side, to the right.

     I stepped onto the mattress and kneeled before the hi-fi. Reaching both my arms out, I gripped either side of the speaker's base with my hands. I began to run my fingers along its edges and up around the back panel. Just then, I heard something. My body froze. Glancing over my shoulder, I remained quiet, trying to listen. All seemed still in the pitch black dark that lay beyond the bedroom doorway.

     As my heart beat began to regulate, I returned my attention to the speaker. Feeling the screws from behind, I could tell they were a little loose. I picked the speaker up gently and placed it face down on the mattress. Using a little screwdriver I had in my pocket, I began to unwind the screws. I then tilted the speaker to its side and the rear panel fell off. As it did, a large bag fell out. Little shit, I thought to myself. It was a plastic zip-up, filled almost to the brim with cocaine.

     I opened the bag and poured two thirds of the content over his mattress. Keeping the screws, I then placed the bag back in its hiding place. With my finger, I spelt a message in the white powder that I had spread over a small section of the mattress.  I then turned behind me, to where the cupboards should have had been installed. I touched, with my fingers, the rough surface of the walls. To my bewilderment, they were still just concrete structures, just as they had been then; still unfinished and not painted.

     Above the space where the wardrobes should have been fitted, was a bear concrete platform. This would have been converted into a cabinet matching the cupboards, which would be likely used to service water pipes that would run down from the solar panels on the roof.

     I stepped hastily towards the corner and with a firm footing on the wall, I leaped up and grabbed onto the ledge. Using my momentum, I quickly pulled my body up and into the empty space. Cramming myself within this dusty confinement, I held my breath whilst the dust settled. I then calmly slipped a Manriki chain out from within the side pocket of my trousers. I wrapped the chain tightly around my palm. Clenching the two little weights attached on either end of the chain, I rested my hands upon my chest.

     There I waited, lying upon the dirty residue concrete, in a dark compact space. My heart was thumping loudly and I was breathing heavily. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. There was no going back. It was now only a matter of time.

1

     I was thirteen when I first tried marijuana. It was the cross over between the late afternoon and the early evening of a hot summer's day in Cyprus. Dressed in draping baggy jeans and a black sleeveless Nike shirt, I was hanging out on the flat concrete rooftop of a public school in my neighbourhood, with one of my best friends, Krissy; a female into her Goth style at the time.

     Krissy and I had been waiting since five that afternoon for two of her friends to show up. Being older, they were going to bring some weed we had been asking to try. It was six by this point and time had slipped the brutal summer day into a majestic and forgiving, calm afternoon. The bright white sunlight had turned to rays of gold. From the rooftop, looking out, the far horizon was tangerine and the sky itself a deep blue.

     Seated on the edge of the roof with our legs dangling over, we stared into the distance, enjoying the soothing breeze. Although excited about finally trying cannabis, I couldn't shake the annoyance and disappointment of the previous day.

     ‘You alright?' Krissy asked.

     Turning my head to the left, I looked at her. The sun was in my eyes forcing me to squint.

     ‘Yeah, I'm good.' I replied.

     ‘You sure?' Krissy asked insistently.

     ‘Yeah,' I said with a sigh, followed by a smile.

     ‘So you're not gonna tell me about what happened at Tae Kwon Do yesterday?'

     Sequences of pushing and shouting flashed through my mind.

     ‘Who told you,' I asked in a way that suggested I should've known you'd know.

     ‘Shershy told us today at break. I don't know where you were at the time.'

     I raised my shoulders and smiled.

     ‘I can't believe you weren't going to tell me,' she continued. ‘I'm your best mate for fuck's sake.'

     Again, fragments of the previous day flickered in my mind. There was shouting, punching and then, some blood.

     ‘No, I was going to,' I finally said. ‘I just wasn't in the mood now.'

     ‘So,' Krissy said smiling, ‘tell me about the fight.'

     I chuckled and then pulled out two cigarettes. Krissy took one. After lighting hers, I then lit one for myself and began to explain.

     After school, the previous day, my friend Shershy and I had gone to our Tae Kwon Do class. Half way into the class, our teacher had paired us up into tag teams for some confrontational sparring. The one fighter, from each pair, would fight another from an opposing team. Each fighter would be coached by their team mate. Soon as our three minutes were up, the teacher would blow the whistle and we would switch fighters.

     When my time came, I was up against a much higher ranking player who was a red belt. I went in strong from the start. Much to the older boy's surprise, he wasn't able to get any points in. Somewhere in between my teammate shouting "punch him," "to your right," "jab," "kick," my opponent, out of desperation, kicked me straight up between the legs and in the groin. I fell to my knees, unable to breathe. Expecting my teacher to call the foul, I looked up and to my surprise, he was not even watching. Instead, he was busy stuffing his face with a plate of black-eyed beans. Unable to catch my breath, my opponent continued kicking and punching me in the ribs and on the head.

     Eventually, I rolled away and quickly got to my feet. The room was spinning as I tried to get my bearings. After a couple of seconds, I pulled off my head gear and ran towards my opponent. Grabbing him by his head gear, I jumped and kneed him in the chest with all my might. He fell to the ground and before he had a chance to understand what happened, I pulled him to his feet by his head gear, removing it at the same time. As he stood dazed, I threw his helmet to one side and moved towards him at full speed.

     The next few seconds seemed to slow down to a near halt. All the shouting and commotion around me blurred into a faint fuzzy buzz as I stepped towards him, projecting my head at him. During that split second, the teacher glanced up and watched as I thumped the lad right between the eyes with my forehead. His nose split and as I felt the blood spray on my face, the noise levels returned. Everything became manic again and I found myself head-butting him a second time; then, a third.

     The teacher grabbed me, pulling me harshly to one side. We began to shout and argue. He ordered me to leave and wouldn't listen to reason. Despite my opponent going below the belt first, out of bad sportsmanship, he accused me of foul play. So I left, warning him I would never come back.

     ‘Oh dude, that's fucked up,' Krissy exclaimed. ‘Man, I wish I had been there to see that though.'

     ‘No, you know what's fucked up Krissy,' I said, looking at her, whilst shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand. ‘He called my mum today, after the others explained to him what really happened, expecting me to return. When my mum explained I refuse to return he began to beg her, saying I had a future and he would make me European champion... dickhead!'

     ‘What a loser,' she added laughing.

     ‘Tell you what though,' I said with a serious look, whilst leaning back against the concrete floor, ‘I'll never let someone kick me when I'm down again; never again!'

     As I was finishing my sentence, Krissy's friends finally showed up to join us. I recall the one, Paris, dressed in baggy army pants with no shirt. The other lad, Alex, was an early Emo type; dressed in Mick Jagger style tight jeans and wearing a white sleeveless vest with small pin-sized gaps in the knitting.

     Although I was confident and cocky in character, I remember there were butterflies in my stomach. I was both very excited and also slightly nervous. Not of what could happen to me, as I was a little naive towards the idea of any danger. Rather, I didn't want to come across as un-cool, in front of the older guys, in the event that I did something to make myself look stupid. After all, I didn't really know what I was doing at all. 

     I then had that first drag. Having had only smoked cigarettes, it was far tougher to inhale than I had expected. I coughed harshly. They patted on my back with cheers of encouragement. And then, it hit me. This was the first instance in my life, in which my mind had been subjected to the chemical alterations of cannabis. I paused for a second; unsure as to whether I was actually feeling something. The others stared at me eagerly.

     ‘Mikey,' Krissy asked, ‘you okay?'

     I looked at her and then took another deep drag of the joint. I closed my eyes, muffling a choking sound as I swallowed the inhalation in an attempt not to cough. Exhaling with a deep satisfaction, I leaned my arm outwards, offering it to Krissy. As she took it from my hand, I opened my eyes; now a slanted glassy red. I could feel the sudden numbness that had already begun to soften my world.

     ‘I'm great!' I exclaimed.

    Alex and Paris, who were most likely already very stoned, began to laugh excitedly. Then it was Krissy's turn.

     At fourteen, a friend had discovered his father's hash stash and started sneaking it out to the gang: a group of six consisting of, a Russian, a French lad, an Armenian, myself (a British-Cypriot) and two others like myself. We were a mixed group of madness. My mother often referred to them as her boys. After all, we and two others, a Ukrainian-Cypriot and a British-Dane, who were not involved in this particular experimentation, all grew up together, like brothers.

     Soon after, the French lad from amongst us discovered that as the underage son of a diplomat, he could bring hash from France, without any risk of having his luggage checked. Which he did, supplying us with, what my later experiences made me realise, was, a very fine hash. As luck would have it therefore, from a very early age, on an island that was very strict when concerning drug related matters, we were able to develop a taste for weed without the later concerns of how to obtain it with the dangers and costs involved.

     By sixteen I was a regular smoker and drinker. I was never interested in chemical substances, although I was curious about LSD since it was notoriously used by all the great writers, musicians and artists at some point or another in their lives. Otherwise, I believed in the naturally grown weed we had available at the time, before the chemically enhanced skunk began to dominate the market and I felt that the issue of cannabis was an ambiguous legal matter, evident by the few cultures and countries that still legally embrace it.

     So I listened to the great musical preachers of our times and mellowed with the burning grass from a couple of joints, with friends at first and later even alone. Although I was curious to try LSD, I generally frowned upon chemical users as also criminals. All that however, changed in the first month of the new millennium, at seventeen.

2

     It was a Friday, just before the 2000 New Year. I was sitting in the school library, staring out of the first floor window. As I stared at the sun's glare that illuminated the plastic shelter that roofed a section of our outdoor lockers, in the school yard, my mind took me on a journey of wandering thoughts. The minutes passed slowly in anticipation of the weekend beginning but it was bearable just knowing that another great evening was ahead.

     A hand gripped my longish hair, snapping me out of my day dream. I looked up and saw Lauren smiling playfully.

     ‘Day dreaming gorgeous?' she asked.

     ‘Nothing better to do,' I replied with a grin.

     Lauren's back was turned to the librarian, who was essentially a teacher on duty for what we called a ‘free period,' intended for general study. She began pointing her finger at a text book that was open in front of me, so that the teacher would assume we were discussing work.

     ‘Doing anything tonight,' she asked.

     ‘Probably just going New Divs,' I replied. ‘You?'

     ‘I don't know. Maybe I'll go New Division too.'

     ‘Really,' I replied flirtatiously.

     ‘Your girlfriend probably wouldn't be too pleased huh.'

     I looked at her, resting my head against my right palm.

     ‘No, Lauren, she probably wouldn't.'

     Lauren leaned in closer, running her finger along lines of text in my book.

     ‘Want to go outside and kill some time?'

     ‘Yeah okay,' I said with a little laugh. ‘Tell you what. Meet me in the boy's changing rooms so we don't get caught skiving ‘free period'.'

     Lauren then went back to her table and soon after got up and approached the teacher. She said she was feeling poorly and asked for permission to go see the nurse. Granted permission, she left the library.

     I watched as Lauren walked away. Dressed in the school uniform, inspired by the colours of the United Nations that had been and continued to be in Cyprus since the seventies, she wore a sky blue skirt and a black jumper over a white shirt. She was gorgeous. I wandered back to the first time I laid my eyes on her.  It was right there, in the same library.

     I caught a glimpse of her as she walked by. Seated inside, I noticed her immediately. The weekend after, I saw her at a Guy Fox bonfire celebration, held at my old primary, the Junior School. Walking with a friend of mine, I passed beside her and her boyfriend at the time. Our eyes met and I knew then, this was trouble.

     Two months later, we met at the fifteenth birthday party of one of the British-Cypriots from amongst my closest friends, Kyri. She was without her boyfriend and amidst the underage drunken madness that was taking place, Lauren approached me. Few words were spoken and before we knew it, we were in the kitchen sharing our first kiss. It was an intimate moment in a tacky setting. My friend AK, the Ukrainian-Cypriot, having seen us return from the kitchen, placed an arm around me. As he and I walked out he gave me a funny look.

     ‘What was that about,' he asked, as we stepped into the forecourt of the large house.

     ‘Trouble,' I replied.

     AK who was the designated bar tender of the evening, having been so drunk, began to vomit in the bushes. Kery stepped out of the house and stood beside me, drinking a beer. Looking at AK, Kery smiled compassionately.

     An Americanised Armenian-Cypriot, Kery was a newcomer to our school. In only a few months he had quickly fitted in with the group and became the newest member to our small family. I placed an arm around him and looked at AK.

     ‘Big trouble,' I repeated, smiling at the toll the evening took on me and my friends.

     Having given it a few minutes, I too got up from my library seat and headed over to the teacher. I would often go running on the track with the head P.E. teacher and so, I asked to go for a run.

     ‘Now?' the teacher asked.

     ‘Well, I wanted to finish my homework first and as I have fifteen minutes to spare, I thought I'd get a run in. Mr. Tsangarides isn't in today and so I didn't get the chance to.'

     She lowered her narrow rectangle glasses, peering at me with her little green eyes.

     ‘I'm not sure if you're allowed to go unattended,' she replied.

     ‘Come on miss,' I insisted charmingly, ‘it's break time in a bit.'

     ‘Okay then,' she said with a surrendering smile. ‘If anyone asks me, I will say you told me you have permission.'

     With ten minutes to spare, Lauren and I met in the male changing rooms that were open on both ends and acted as a corridor between one part of the play ground and the indoor gymnasium and swimming pool facilities. We embraced and I lifted her onto my chest, swinging her legs around to one side. We then dashed into a cubicle so as not to be seen.

     Inside, we came face to face in a small confined space and soon began to calm down. I stared into her large green eyes and she stared right back into my dark brown eyes. All the activity had misplaced my hair, now partly hanging down my face. I carefully pulled that fallen strand back behind my ear and then placed my hands on either side of her face. We kissed and as our lips touched, time halted. The noisy water pipes fell quiet. A couple of birds chirped gently and then, there was absolute silence.

     Loud whistling suddenly tore through the stillness. The sound of footsteps soon followed, echoing through the corridor. Holding my finger to her lips, I gestured for Lauren to stand up on the bench so that her feet could not be seen should the teacher look beneath the door. From the grumpy groaning alone, we could tell who it was. A much disliked teacher with whom I only interacted during certain P.E. sessions. A primary teacher and secondary P.E. trainer, he was a moody character. With a chip on his shoulder, he was notorious for going to unreasonably great lengths to stir up problems for students.

     Once he had gone, we remained in silence, staring at each other with large smiles, trying not to laugh. The bell finally rang, relieving us of our effort for restraint. Lauren burst into giggles but still being wary of his return, I tried to control her.

     At the end of the day, I was heading out of the front gates of the school yard, with my girlfriend Katrina, mucking about with Kyri. As we approached the zebra crossing to head to the park on the other side of the road, I saw Lauren on a school bus that was leaving the premises. Seated by the window, she saw me and winked as the bus drove by.

     That evening, like many other nights, the entire group was hanging out in our favourite bar New Division; a legacy that was handed down to me by my older cousin when I was twelve and to which I introduced my entire group (the only underage patrons allowed). By the age of sixteen, everyone we knew went there.

     Shersy, Kery, Pani, Kyri, Pierre and myself stood out back, behind the bar, in the semi-covered parking area of a mixed purpose building. We huddled at the rear entrance of one of the ground floor retail shops, below residential flats. Two joints were being passed around amongst us. Long drags were taken, followed by coughing fits and laughter. Foggy clouds and glazed red eyes spun amongst the group, drifting amidst the young wanderers of a modern culture, descendent from hippies and lost in the face of modernization and depersonalisation.

     Charles then showed up. He gave me a little slap on the neck.

     ‘Come on you stoned fucks,' he said laughing, ‘it's getting packed inside. Let's get a fucking drink.'

     I placed my arm around him and we made our way back in. Pani wrapped us both with his long arms, giggling in his charming childlike way. Kyri, Kery, Shershy and Pierre followed behind, discussing the boundaries of the mind and other such nonsensical philosophies that we often liked to debate.

     As the night progressed, we sunk in a frenzy of shots, J-D, Southern Comfort and Johnny Walker. Amidst switching from upstairs around the pool table, downstairs amongst random friends, outside in the beer garden where we were seated and at the serving counter of the bar, I made a dash for a bathroom break. Walking up the stairs, I saw Lauren enter the bar with a friend of hers. I then glanced at my girlfriend who was standing with a group of my friends ordering drinks at the bar. Man, I'm in so much trouble, I thought to myself.

     Entering the bathroom, I went and stood at the only urinal. As I began undoing my trouser button, Shershy, grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me into the only cubicle.

     A little apprehensive, I looked at him, ‘Bro, what the fuck man?'

     He was grinning from ear to ear. His cheeks were a shiny luminous red.

     ‘I'm sorry man,' he said, struggling to calm his giggles.

     ‘You drunk Russian fuck,' I said heartily as I buttoned my jeans, ‘what's up?'

     Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he continued, ‘dude, you're gonna love me!'

     Bewildered and a little excited, I asked, ‘what is it man?'

     He pulled a small, thin sheet of paper from behind the cigarettes. Turning it over, I saw four rows of four stamps. The tabs were like miniature versions of postage stamps, each imprinted with the image of a daisy flower.

     As I looked into his eyes, he said with a cheeky smirk, ‘LSD.'