Saturday, 9 May 2015

Snitch with and itch by Grant Harbison

“I need another fix!” screeched the snitch. “The whole of my body is starting to itch. My head is pounding and I want to be sick. Prick me with that thing and make it quick!”
“The only thing I’ll prick you with is broken glass!” growled the dealer. “If there’s anything worse than a junkie, it’s a bloody junkie grass!”
“I know it was foolish and I was a little rash, but I've already been punished. I've already got the gash.”
“If you ever grassed me up, I’d do more than slit your face. I’d cut you up in pieces and I wouldn't leave a trace.”
“I’d never do that to the hand that feeds. Only you can ease my pain and satisfy my needs.”
“You’re the lowest of the low, you are worse than pond scum. You’ll do anything for a fix; even sell your mum. I don’t give a damn and you can grovel and you can plead. Find another dealer to gratify your need.”
“Please don’t be like that, I really need a hit. Acid, crack and smack. I’ll buy more than just a bit.”
“Even if you offered me thousands, I wouldn't take your cash. You’re a snivelling little squealer and I won’t even sell you hash.”   

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