Of the side of the canal running through my neighbood, a couple of the feral cats were hunting rats. Sometimes the rodents would dive into the waterway, knowing the feline on their tail would not follow.  It was a filthy canal, tinted a dark shade of eggplum. The channel was our garbage disposal. Anything you needed to get rid of, like a can of racoon repellant, a couch, or a deceased family member, was tossed into the water and flushed out to sea. No one went to the shore line anymore, because the beach was covered in dead organisms, while the rocky areas were littered in styrofoam and broken glass, not yet weathered down by the tide. Only the homeless would ever walk along the beach, if only to pick out garbage from the tidal pools and see if it’s of any use. Most of us simply avoided it because no one was interested in the flaming diseases the water had to offer.
      The world was infected with sicknesses, viruses and infections. We tried to avoid the less sightly parts of our cities, like the zones where the lower class couldn’t afford any type of clothing, and would walk around naked like apes, or the parts where every square inch of brick would be coated in fungus.  I particularly liked where my structure was located, for it had a nice district. No one tried to kill each other, and when we did, it was very discreet.  We all paid our taxes, and did our part in making sure we didn’t toss our garbage on each other’s lawns, and kept our trash, like our business, to ourselves. You could pass maladies you didn’t even know you had to your neighbor through your old junk, so you had to be sure to pile it up in your own yard, or push it directly into the canal ever so often. We had pills for prevention of disease then; pills for most things. The government decided it was cheaper to make medications than to actually clean, so everything was filthy, but no one was supposed to fall ill. 
      One of the stray cats just caught something hairy. It could have been a rotten anything though, simply covered with fur-like mold. I didn’t even attempt distinguish what’s what anymore, seeing as when you examined things closer, the whole lot of things were the same. The view out my window was disgusting, particularly in the morning. I didn’t want to observe these vermin being devoured by wild tomcats, while I try to consume my breakfast. Neither did I want 
to see lost bikes rusting and their seat cushions being faded and ripped by the sun, or the unsightly vagrant men, or ‘urban campers’ beseeching provisions or change.  They couldn’t pay for the pills they leached from the government. I paid for my own drugs, at least. A very small handful of the general public never bought them you see, whether they had the money or not. It’s one of the stupidest things anyone could do. Would you like to contract dengue fever, or would you prefer your children to be birthed with Menkes disease? 
      I tossed away the leftovers of my stale buttered bread, downed the coffee, and took my pharmaceuticals. The side effects of my medications made it difficult for me to stomach any amount of food, so my meals were usually a chunk of toast with something spread on it and some sort of sugared drink. Sometimes I spiked what I was drinking with energy pills to give me more vigor to last throughout the day. 
      My comrade had just arrived to pick me up. We were going to the club. The morning was the best time to go to the club- it’s when all the high class citizens went. If you set out later in the day, the only other humans you’ll find will be the wrong sort entirely, people who used the easily available drugs for the wrong purpose, such as bliss or gratification. These were the same folks who end up smuggling to other countries and being eradicated by the government. I paid my taxes, the income taxes, the foodstuff taxes, the taxes on my weapons. And so it is my money, and the society’s money, that goes to their many programs, like providing the pills we rely on, or “cleaning up” the general public. 
      My companion and I were dressed quite nicely. I had on a looser romper, with a large khaki jacket and thigh high boots, while Hilde wore a legless body suit with long tight arms, lace tights and dust gray desert boots. Hilde was my favorite acquaintance, as she was plain and simple, and didn’t talk too much. She was very petite, and had light European hair. Hilde possessed lovely pale blue eyes. They were eyes that you looked into and lost yourself in, for they created a sense of depth, like a swimming pool.  However, there were large plum circles 
under them, from the insomnia. Hilde had a certain physical weakness that made her more susceptible to the potential side effects of the medicine. 
      The mustard yellow taxi she had arrived in swerved in the street dangerously, heading at 50 miles per hour to the club. 
       “Hilde,” I asked her, once we had gotten out of the older man’s cab and were waiting in line to get in, “Are you alright? You seem a bit… distant.” 
      “I’m perfectly fine Claire, I mean; I took all my pills this morning.” 
      “Good. Let’s just enjoy ourselves then.”
      And so the two of us, girls in our early twenties, had our IDs checked and our wrists embossed with the logo of the place. The second we walked in through the sliding metal door, black lights, heavy electronic music, and pulsating walls shook us. The humans around us were moving intensely to the throb of the atmosphere. Hilde and I quivered slightly in the minute space between us and the men near us, while the base of the music kept throbbing, pulsing, like a slow heartbeat, or like you were lying on a vein in the neck- pounding thick liquid. Hilde was already sunk into the beat, and her face showed it, eyes closed, torso moving, in, and out. But then she began to fade out of the regularity of everyone’s movement, and her eyes opened in fear. She grabbed at her chest, and collapsed onto the floor.
      Around us, no one noticed, other than me. I pulled her up by her delicate hands, and dragged her to the seats against the wall. We sat there for several minutes, unable to exchange words over the sound, over the beat. Not only was the music too loud, but it was so difficult to force yourself out of the conforming rhythm to push out words. I didn’t understand how her heart wasn’t beating along, how her breaths weren’t coming in, flowing out, like so. As I was looking at her, I abruptly noticed she had passed out. I grabbed her wrist, and her individual pulse was not only oddly not melting to the echo, but not existent at all. I lifted her up with little diifficulty, 
as she was an extremely small build and was very frail, and I pushed my way through the swayers. None of them even disconcerted her, or I. Then I laid her down on the pavement outside, while the citizens in line looked on in confusion, but not worry.  The ambulance arrived in a minute or so, and lifted her into the van to take her not to a hospital, but the incinerator. 
      “She’s not alive, see. Probably caused by a side effect of her drugs. Sudden death. Heart attack. But, she’ll be burned to dust within the hour. Her ash will probably be used in the bricks building the new prison, seeing as the city isn’t building any homes right now. The rapid decline in population isn’t requiring it, see,” 
      And the medic continued speaking bluntly like this to me so, until I, disturbed, walked away to go re-enter the club.
      When she died, Hilde was the only heartbeat in the club, the only rhythm that was not moving in uniformity. And that then, is one of the gloomy possible effects of the many drugs we take, that while we might not be laden with any diseases, we still put ourselves at risks perhaps higher than without them. But, it is the only way, and there is nothing about it that can be done. 
Side Effects
Category Grades 6-8
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