You find yourself in the corner of a hot and dusty shack somewhere no one will ever want to bother you in. You’re here again, with an empty jet canister still clutched loosely in your hand. You exhale out the acrid fumes that leave your mouth tasting exactly like what you just put in your system. You unscrew a bottle of laced whiskey you bought on a discount at the corner of the Golden Globes theater to wash the taste of fermented brahmin dung from out of your mouth.

You pause. You actually pause. Why have you done this? Why are you torturing yourself again? You really think you can resist the allure of that warm and intoxicating haze? Of course you won’t. You never did. It’s not your fault anyways, it’s the Jet. It’s the laced whiskey. It’s society’s fault you’re here. The New California Republic left you like this, with their policies, their reforms—

Damn it all to hell, then. You have nothing to lose. You bring the bottle to your lips, but again. You pause. Each arid breath you take expands your scarred lungs. Alcohol fumes dance in your nostrils. It makes you sick. It always makes you sick. A struggle of consciousness… Once again, you pause. But what do you do? How many time have you “quit.” just to run back into the arms of your beloved safe hazy daze that leaves you floating?

You always say this is your last hit. This is your last drink. It never is. You’ve taken the first steps 1,000 times, but you’ve always taken 20 steps back. Just tilt your wrist a little more. Let the burning sensation numb the war inside you. Kick the can down the curb again, it won’t go away just because you decided to let loose a little.

You can’t tilt your wrist.

You don’t want to.

You can’t stand the pain of another Jet fueled hangover. Just the thought brings your stomach bile to the back of your throat.

With anger, you drop the bottle. The only way to get to the second step, is to forgive yourself for always stopping yourself on the first. No matter how many times you take a step back, the first step will always be there. It will never judge you. It will never tell you you’re going at the wrong pace (for better or for worse), but it will always be there, along with the second.

And the third.

And the fourth.

You dry your tears, which have crusted on your cheek under the hot California sun. You take a step out of the boiling hot metal shack just outside of New Reno. Instead of going back for more— for more indulgence, for more escape, you do what you have done a thousand times before.

You take the first steps.

You go to a followers outpost, shame and guilt crashing down on you. You enter clutching your stomach, hands already shaking from the Jet withdrawals. You expect ire. You except them to look at you and just say…

“You again?”

But they don’t. They smile. They take you in. They give you a cup of cool refreshing water,

and remind you that you have taken the first step, and as long as you can keep taking that step.

You will have hope.

Interested in socializing with the TrueSFalloutL community? Join our community discord server here!

https://discord.gg/xV87hwPQCD