‘Drugs will destroy your life, boy.’ That’s what the old history teacher, Mr Taylor had told William Harker when he caught him smoking weed in the backyard of the school. ‘Stop it now, while you’re still young. You have a good head on your shoulders, boy. Don’t let it go to waste.’ But he didn’t listen. ‘What does that old man know?’ That’s what he thought. ‘Weed ain’t even addictive.’ The captain of the rugby team didn’t like anybody telling him what to do or not do. His parents were pretty liberal so the boy grew up in a good environment. ‘Grew up’ is the right term, as he was 1,80, 95 kilos of muscle mass – strong as an ox. He looked a lot like his father – blonde hair, blue eyes, and the same big jaw, giving him even a more intimidating look.

William was right - weed wasn’t addictive. It got him through the last year of high school just fine. He would smoke now and then, once or twice a week (a bit more on holidays) but nothing too excessive. He wasn’t an addict, he just liked it.

When he got to college, he started liking extasy, too. Not long after, he started liking heroin. That’s when he really became dependant on the substances he abused. He dropped out of college. There was no way he could maintain his habits and pay for his education, no matter how much money his parents sent him. Plus, he was always ‘sick’ so there was no way he could take his exams (unless the exam was inserting a needle into a vain – there he was an expert).

Without an education and without a job, he soon found himself into rehab. He was lucky his parents (or rather his mother) loved him enough to do everything in their power and resources to make him better. His mother Margaret– a small brown-eyed brunette, always blamed herself for not seeing the signs. Her eyes were frequently red. Always saying something had gotten in her eye, she never wanted anybody seeing her crying but the poor woman couldn’t hide it very well, either. William’s father – Jason Harker, a coffee shop owner, blamed his son’s friends for what had happened, not knowing that neither of them was responsible. The truth was, it was nobody’s fault – the boy was just curious.

After spending a year and a half (and a lot of money) in rehab, William finally got out, clean. His problems were just beginning, however. He had to deal with his parents’ divorce – they had started arguing progressively more through his rehab and about a year after he was admitted, his father left the house. He left half his small fortune to his wife and the sold the café to go live abroad. He soon remarried, trying to forget what a failure his past life had been. Margaret spent all the money for her son’s rehab. She started working as a house maid in order to support herself as Jason didn’t have any alimonial obligations according to their agreement.

All of this was too much for the young man to endure. Three weeks after he got out of rehab, he was found OD in a back alley – all sixty-five kilos of him. When she got the news, his mother couldn’t handle it and got a heart attack, dying on the way to the hospital. William’s habits had ruined their lives. Mr Taylor was dead-on.