He had the perfect cover, working as a security guard for a large corporation.  It gave him ample opportunity to be walking the outskirts of the parking lot, and up and down corridors, and interacting with all sorts of people.  His schedule was changed week over week, giving him the chance to work odd hours.  He had access to the video room so he could review and edit any footage that happened to catch him doing something he wasn’t supposed to, but that rarely happened because he knew where the cameras were and how to avoid them.  Plus, as a guard, having passed through their screening process and gone through their training, who would suspect him?

So, he passed his days living his double life, giving the employees some semblance of security by being present to screen people coming into the building and walking through the large parking lots to deter illegal activities there, while selling drugs.  Sometimes he sold to the employees but he didn’t like to do that.  People using on site could lead to trouble and that could lead back to him.  So, those instances were rare.  Usually, he just had his clientele walk through the lot and he’d meet them between cars and swap baggies for cash, both then carrying on in opposite directions.  Or, should the transaction occur close to a camera he would stop and make it look like he was asking if they were an employee, if he could see their badge, and then ushering them off the campus.

While the current setup was good, he knew it wasn’t foolproof so he had plans to cut and run if it seemed like he’d been figured out or if a sting was getting put in place.  He also didn’t plan on working at one location for very long.  He would request a move to a different building, a different business.  He might bounce around for a bit, under the guise of the contracted security guard and then he would figure out what to do next.  He didn’t need the real income.  His drug sales kept him in more cash than he needed.  But, having a legitimate job smoothed out some other parts of his life, like relationships and bank accounts and taxes.

Then all his plans went out the window.  She, he would eventually find out, had a way of doing that to everyone she met.

a need

He met the dealer on the corner, as he’d been instructed to do.

He’d finally broken free of the morals that had been taught at him from his childhood, and took a taste at a friends party a few weeks back.  He’d been warned that it could be addictive but he’d just puffed up his chest and replied those sorts of things didn’t happen to him.  Except, they had.  He’d never had anything so divine.

The tasting had turned into a sampling.  The sampling had morphed into a craving over the days that followed.  And, as the addiction settled in, the craving turned into a need.  He had reached out to his friend, the one that had originally offered him the taste, and the friend had told him how to contact the dealer.

And, so, when the need grew too great to ignore, he had.

The soft light from the nearby street lamp bathed their brief exchange in an ethereal glow.  Part of him couldn’t believe how quickly things had escalated.  A month before he couldn’t have imagined ever meeting a dealer on the street at midnight in a questionable part of town.  A month before he didn’t truly understand the words “need” and “addiction.”

“Do you have any garlic?”  He whispered and winced as his voice carried in the darkness.  His head twitched as his eyes danced up and down the streets, peering into every shadow.

“That’s an illegal spice, man, I don’t trade in that.  Wouldn’t you rather have some Molly, Mickey, or Mary?”

He shook his head defiantly.  “No, only garlic will do.”  He hadn’t even heard of the other three.  They didn’t interest him at all.  Not yet, anyway.

The dealer began to walk away, “You look like a cop to me, man.  And, if you ain’t, this is no place for someone like you to be.  Go home and sleep it off.”

“Please,” he begged, his voice quivered as the depth of his need poured out of him.

The dealer stopped and turned back.  He recognized that need.  It was what set the true customers apart from the cops.  “Okay, man, I can set you straight.  How much you want?”

“How much do you have?”


I think I’m hungry this morning.  Everything I want to write has to do with food.  Perhaps I should go find some of that and set myself straight?  In the meantime, as if you hadn’t already guessed, this bit of silliness was in response to the current Inspiration Monday writing challenge:

Inspiration Monday logo

The Rules

There are none. Read the prompts, get inspired, write something. No word count minimum or maximum. You don’t have to include the exact prompt in your piece, and you can interpret the prompt(s) any way you like.


No really; I need rules!

Okay; write 200-500 words on the prompt of your choice. You may either use the prompt as the title of your piece or work it into the body of your piece. You must complete it before 6 pm CST on the Monday following this post.

The Prompts:






So, dear kingdomites, tell me, what do you need?