Her eyes pick out her sisters laughing face and she feels like tearing of the dress that clings to her slim frame. It is satin and lace, very traditional, according to her mother. Her sister's Caucasian husband stands proudly by her side. She can hear birds singing somewhere and it fixates her.

Her eyes wander around the treetops wondering where the birds are. She can't see any and she wonders if they are real or just birds in her imagination. It has been happening more and more. She hears things that might or might not be there.

"Devi!"

Her mother's sharp voice cuts through the drug-induced fog that clouds everything for her. Only mildly interested she turns to look at her mother, who is standing right next to her.

"What's wrong with you?"

I'm looking for the pretty birds, she wants to say. But instead she stands next to her sister in her pale purple dress. Her sister describes it as a sheath.

Her sisters elaborate up do fascinates her. You can almost see the individual strands of hair if you look carefully. She notices that her sister's hair is a light brown where the sun shines through. Her hands itch to undo the coil that is topped by a glittering crown and comb it with her fingers like she used to do.

All through the ceremony she looked at the floor without being too obvious about the fact that she was looking at it. She liked the veins that ran through the marble floor and the fact that it made a map to the happy couples feet.

The words that were said washed over her like water on a rock. She couldn't remember a thing even though at first she had tried to listen.

Her mother pulls at her hand.

"Come on!"

Her face, serene and faraway, changes so fast to angry and feral that her mother pulls her hand back. She remembers in time that she cannot hit her mother and that people are watching. She holds her hands to her side stiffly. One hand clutches the posy of pink flowers she can't name even though people give them to her on Valentines. What are they called?

She's feeling terrible. She really could use a hit. Really.

With a start she realises that she is alone on the church steps. Slowly she walks towards the wedding party. She is supposed to follow her parents to the hotel where the reception is being held.

She can't bring herself to walk faster though she should hurry up. The dress makes her feel like she is floating. Like a fairy on a flower float. Her shoes are the same purple as her dress and they could be purple petals sewn together to make shoes she muses.

The grass beneath her feet is soft she's sure. She wants to touch it but she decides not to because it would take too much effort. So she keeps on walking and gets into the car, her head in a spin.

At the reception she sees a familiar face. She finds herself leaving her table to talk to him. He's an old friend of the family. He's shirt is already untucked and his tie is loosened. And the look on his face mirrors hers. With some effort she manages to tell him to meet her outside in five minutes while making it sound innocent to his parents.

She leaves and waits for him outside the function room for what seems an hour. The time is crawling, crawling, crawling.

There he is.

"Hey."

She smiles at him. Her arched eyebrows are twin question marks. Slowly he pats a pocket and takes out a cigarette packet. Inside are cigarettes, the tobacco thrown away and stuffed with herb.

She tries to reach for it but he pockets it and gestures for her to follow him. His hand trails behind him searching for hers. They always got along, she remembers. He's only three years older. And she remembers clearly the time two years ago when he came over and they went for a walk.

They ended up kissing. She was fourteen and it was her first kiss. She remember being excited and slightly grossed out when he's tongue pushed itself into her mouth and how she had amazed herself with the seemingly expert way she handled herself. He wouldn't believe her when she said it was her first kiss. He'd said she was a whore for letting him touch her breasts and she had called him a paedophile for kissing her; they both laughed about it.

And now they were in the hotel bathrooms at her sisters wedding reception about to smoke weed together. How surreal. Everything was surreal now, nothing was ordinary anymore. They were in the men's room and she was vaguely aware that tongues would wag if one of the guests saw them.

She pulled him into one of the stalls and locked the door. Perched on the toilet seat, totally forgetting all the things her mother had told her about public toilets and not sitting on them, she looked up at him expectedly.

He leaned down, close enough to kiss her.

"I still don't think I gave you your first kiss."

His voice echoes in her head even though he was whispering. Their lips are touching now and her hands pull his head closer. Just like the first time he pushes his tongue into her mouth. He pulls her up so that she's standing. His lips slide to her neck, kissing it so gently. It's so different form the first time. He was aggressive and passionate then. Kissing her like it would be the last time. Her mind travels back slowly to that day and she remembers his expression being the same then as it is now. He was stoned event hen she concludes.

Today his kisses are soft and barely there even though she feels his intensity. He is so frustrated. He wants to kiss her the same way. Wants to take away her breath and leave her looking flushed and flustered. But all he does is kiss her gently much to her bewilderment. His kisses are cold against her cheek where his lips make their way next. Gone is the warm that seemed to envelope her the last time and she remembers that last time, that first time, so clearly.

She tries to kiss him, kiss him the way that he kissed her. But all she feels is a blackness that threatens to swallow her. He pulls away angrily. His eyes, she never noticed until now, are sunken. His skin used to be a light cocoa colour that she always thought would be sweet if she tasted it, is now sallow and she thinks she will throw up if her mouth ventured near it.

He is painfully thin, she can see that. He looks like he hasn't slept in days, knows he hasn't, even though he wants to. She looks at his face as he lights up. The flare of the lighter highlights the wild side of him that has gripped him.

"How?"

She doesn't know what she's asking. She doesn't know what he will answer. He laughs a hollow laugh and she inhales the smoke from his joint. She's just a little scared of him.

"When did you die?"

He didn't answer the first time, he's not likely to answer this time. But he pauses, thinks, before answering her.

"After we kissed."

He smiles sadly and she can see a ghost of what he was. She sees the hollow person drained of all life from expectations set too high for him to reach. They might have married out of companionship and understanding even though they had nothing much in common.

She sees herself as he leans back against the stall door. His face is sad and angry. He hates himself just like she does. He rolls back one sleeve to show her the needle marks. He's telling her not to shoot up. She knows not to. Seeing his veinless arm she doesn't need telling twice.

"The heroin ate them all up."

His voice is hoarse as he laments on his lost veins. How do you live without veins she wonders? She knows you can't and he's living proof of that. He hands her a joint and lights it for her before leaving.

He was so beautiful she muses as she smokes all alone in the men's room. Now he's dead.

At the wedding reception she doesn't see him again. She doesn't really want to now though she had before. She doesn't want to talk to him anymore. She sees people but she knows they see someone else when they look at her. They see only what they want to see. Only a handful can see the truth. She watches with something like amusement as they look at her parents sympathetically before looking at her contemptuously. One woman clutches her teenage daughter tightly. As if the drugs were going to jump out of her and into the other girl.

At home she takes of her purple sheath and puts on her favourite t-shirt. It says Adihash underneath a weed leaf. Slowly she takes of the make up that was caked on to make her look healthy, but emphasised her dilated pupils. When she looks in the mirror she sees the same death aura that hung like smog around him. Only hers is grey where his was black. She pinches her cheeks and hardly feels it. Her friend, Liyana, has a dealer boyfriend who likes to treat his girlfriend to a bagful of coke on special occasions. Today is their anniversary and she's sure to get a bag. Liyana is generous. She'll cut lines with Liyana tomorrow after they go shopping in her room. The mirror they'll use is hidden behind schoolbooks.

It amazes her how much dope she's been doing. She would have freaked a year ago when she tried her first joint and promised herself she'd only do it once in awhile when Liyana's creepy boyfriend who was much too old for her came around.

She still has some LSD hidden in a film canister in her drawer desk next to her camera. Slowly she makes a checklist of everything in her room. There's the LSD she thinks blearily as her eyes wander to the desk drawer. In one of her shoes is some speed someone in school gave her. She hasn't tried it yet and will ration it out two weeks before finals when she'll have to cram. Speed is the only reason she's doing so well this year. In her purse there's a packet of E that she bought when she went clubbing last week. She doesn't really like E, she's afraid of frying her brain if she doesn't drink enough water. She bought it for Liyana's birthday next week. Then there's the grass that she stuffed inside her Barbie's. She pulled the heads of and stuffed the weed into their hollow little bodies in little tiny packets. There's also a whole bag full of weed in a net bag that has a layer of rose petals on top. It looks like a potpourri bag, if you don't smell it.

Content with her inventory she falls asleep on her bed in a heap.