Waste

This is a true story, it is heartbreaking, disturbing and definitely a tragedy. Although I will tell it in the first person, I was not there, and the first person is fictional, as are the thoughts and sentiments of that first person. The reasons I have written it in the first person is to try and approximate the sheer horror of that person. If you don't like my language, then fuck you, because as with most people in this world you have blinded yourself to the cold hard fucking facts of life in the real world. And so I will begin;
Hong Kong is a pretty fucking good place to live, and to live in Lantau is the business. I live in Mui-Wo, which is by far the best place to live on Lantau.All this means shit if you've never been here, but you must at least know that Hong Kong is the most populated place on the planet. Well, us Gweilos (white motherfuckers) who've lived here awhile realised very quickly that we couldn't handle the city and found our way to the beautiful,tropical and quiet outlying islands-Lantau being one . Life is pretty idyllic over here, a little like Cheers but much much bigger. This is not a fuckin tourist blurb though and if you want to know more look on the net. To pay for this life we have to work, and that takes me to the day in question, where I was on the late shift and ready to go home. The office is always high stress, there are over 20 of us there, most of us British. One of the fellas hadn't turned in today, which in itself is not unusual, but nobody had heard fuck all from him for a couple of days now. Only 2 days ago it had been Bill's(made up name) birthday and a few of the lads had had a night over in Wanchai. Nothing unusual had happened, and so far as we knew nothing was amiss. It wasn't the first time that someone's dad/mum/wife had called, shit after a good night we lost people for days, that's Hong kong. Bill's Dad told me hadn't heard from Bill for 3 days, I had worked with Bill for 7 years, so I knew straight away to expect the worst. 7 years Bill was on the desk next to me, we were close. Most of us here have lived the life, but survived and calmed down with wives and kids. Bill had been married, but it didn't last-who knows why? Bill lived in Mui-Wo above the supermarket, close to the ferry, most of my Lantau friends didn't know him though as he kept himself to himself.He was still young , on the right side of 30 and as I've said had worked for our company for years. As I also said earlier, most of us had walked the fuckin walk and done the talk before we settled down, and as far as we knew so had Bill. Someone always went off the rails at times, but generally nothing a good sleep or a good divorce wouldn't cure-you know what I mean. So back to Bill's dad on the phone; He hadn't heard from him for three days and had been round to his flat a couple of times but had got no answer. He could hear the same music being played again and again though. You fuckin know where this is going and so did I at this point, but of course prayed and prayed that he'd left his telly on and was shacked up with some bird somewhere. We had no clue where Bill was, and Bill's dad didn't live on the island so I offered to stop by on my home and call him later. The sense of impending dread built as I took my normal 90 minute journey home, it was 1am by the time I got back.i had never been to Bill's flat but I knew the building and floor, and so I found myself at his door. The music was still playing, and after a while I realised it was on a very short loop, it must be a DVD. Of course there was no answer to my ringing and knocking. Hong kong is a small place and if Bill was still out on the town we would have heard, he wasn't, I knew he must be in his flat-nobody leaves their music playing like that. On the way I had called a couple of friends in the police to ask their advice about what I should do and they had been very clear-Don't put in the door, just call the police. I already knew from Bill's father that the music had been playing for a couple of days, and so called the cops.
They arrived very quickly-the island is a small place. They broke down the door. I followed them into the flat.
He was sat there rigid, frozen. On a chair facing the TV. Blood and vomit had congealed on his face. The DVD was some crap Jennifer Lopez film. There were syringes. He was dead.
They moved him and the rigor mortis was obvious, his whole body remained in the same position as they tipped his body.
I don't have the words to describe my feelings, my horror, my shock at that moment. This was my friend, my colleague. How much of our lives had we shared together? I knew he'd had history, but thought that had long gone. He was so straight at work, competent.
This was a young 33 year old, intelligent, good, hardworking man. He still had everything to live for, with so much to come. This man was not a drug addict-he was a fully functioning, highly functioning young healthy man. The anti drug adverts don't do the reality justice. Bill's petrified rigid body would scare the fuck out of anybody.
What a fucking waste!