Heroin Harbor

By Jamie Hung

Heroin Harbor gained its name from the white, powdery bricks that constructed its majestic docks, but an equally descriptive name like Pearl Harbor would’ve been just fine. As one gazes further inland, there sits a gigantic dream factory that puffs iridescent clouds, bathing the Harbor in colorful haze, with some even carried to distant lands by the coastal breeze. However, the enchanted sparkles never crossed the Pacific, which would’ve swept Admiral Yamamoto off his military course. On a clear and sunny morning, when the dreamers in Heroin Harbor popped their heads at last out of hazy clouds as the siren rang, they were met only by a sea of enlarging shadows rained from the sky, and soon, eternal darkness.  

Part of the harbor remains though, with tainted blood and smeared grease covering its once majestic white body. Even worse, the dream factory was never seen running again, and the enchanted land lays bare for all to trample and mock. Yet, some dreamers who have seen the past glamour lived on, supplied to dream again only with crude imitations of white powders—Heroin, named after the Harbor—in tiny plastic bags, silently exchanged and forever haunted by the ghost of the Harbor.