Author: Anarchist Poet PM
lesson learned: just because a cute hippie sells you something does not mean its going to be goodRated: Fiction M - English - Words: 547 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 07-27-09 - id: 2701991
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"Look, none of this is real. Its almost over. Don't worry."
This is the worst thing to say to somebody who is tripping, becauese when you're tripping, the trip is undoubtedly real. So when you hear a confident voice tell you "none of this is real," you don't question your eyes and your ears or the sensations you are experiencing, you can't. Instead, you doubt everything else. Your life. Your friends. Your family.
None of this is real.
Its almost over.
What's almost over? You're life as you know it. You are going to pass into a different plane of existance. You're going to die. It's almost over. And it wasn't real anyway.
You can spend every minute absolutely hating your life but when you feel the end coming, you'll still panic. Its inevitable.
Its hard not to when everything up until now has been revealed as a lie, when you've suffered and cried for nothing, and some even worse horror is coming up instead, or worse than that: nothing.
You want to call those few people in your life who have mattered and tell them so, it feels really important that you do that, right away, while you still can, even if it wasn't real, even if it was just a game or some simulation of life, you still want somebody to hold onto through the last painful minutes.
You screaam or cry and roll into a ball on the floor covering your eyes, but your hands don't really feel connected to your body anymore and everything in the world, all these made up imaginary objects, they are melting together and there is nothing you can do about it.
"Do you know what year it is?"
Yes. Its 2009 and I'm 16 years old and it's a beautiful day in July and Barack Obama is president but none of that is real and its all ending anyway. I'm going to die. Or maybe I was never even alive. I don't know, but its almost over.
Then somebody talking on the phone. "Yeah, I think they took some mushrooms and they're totally out of control. What do I do? Should I take them to the hospital?"
You remember now. The kid in the park looking like he stepped out of 1969, long matted hair and a tie die shirt. Him telling you "I don't sell dope or coke or farmies or any of that shit, only good things that will open your eyes."
He overcharged you too, but you couldn't haggle him down. "Come on kid. It's a tough economy. I'm losing customers left and right, people thinking whatever other bullshit they want to buy is worth more than spiritual enlightenment. Can't go lower than $65."
You made peanut butter and shroom sandwiches and joked about the taste, laughed as the world around you began to ripple and move in waves. You wouldn't be laughing for long though.
Shakily, you get up off the floor and look around you at a world that has slowly returned to how its supposed to be. Its over.
Still, who knows what's real?