Author: Joel Rodriguez PM
It is hard to explain what this is when no one has experienced it as I have. This story is based off of a trip that I had the last time I did a hallucinogenic drug. I quit immediately after this experience.Rated: Fiction M - English - Fantasy/Hurt/Comfort - Words: 1,088 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 10-05-12 - id: 3063403
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The darkness of the desolate flatte frightens me.
Where are they?
Where are the bugs?
My skins splits open revealing an entire parallel universe.
I tear at it, looking back at myself.
Before I know it, I fall in the hole, into the green forest, staring at myself.
Like looking in a mirror.
The burning black sun shows him as his true self.
His sickening grin reveals his rotted teeth.
His eyes burn with anger and hatred as he hands me the razor.
He has the same tear in his arm that I do.
Snakes and insects poor out of it like a waterfall.
I look back up at him and his face has faded from anger and hatred to depression and despair.
I look deep into my eyes to see my old house.
A large Victorian style manor.
My father is up in his study, about to end his life.
Why dad, why?
Do you not love us anymore?
I open the door to ask him for help with my homework.
I see him standing on a chair, his throat tied to a support beam in the ceiling.
He stares right at me and kicks the chair.
His neck snaps.
He is gone.
I cry for days.
I always wanted to be like him.
I try following in his example.
The bell rings.
I'm surrounded by white walls.
My black hoodie and baggy jeans have turned into a white shirt and white sweat pants.
The room is bright.
Nothing but a bed inside.
I bang against the walls.
Let me out.
I look down at my arms.
Not just one tear in my arm.
And what seems like thousands of stitches.
I hear a screeching in the hallway.
I look down it.
Death is approaching, dragging his scythe behind him.
The screech of the scythe against the floor pierces my ears.
I put my hands to my ears and nothing but blood is coming out.
Death makes his stop.
He knocks on the door across from mine.
A man emerges.
His face painted with scars.
The man turns to me.
I see nothing but a reflection.
That's me covered in scars.
Why is my face covered in scars?
What happened to my hair?
What are those burns?
A flash of light.
I'm back at the forest.
I look at my alternate self.
I am happy.
Several needles are stabbed into his arms.
His face is pale and flushed.
His eyes are burning red.
He has a razor in his hand.
He starts sawing at his arms.
A rainbow pours out of my forearm.
In that rainbow are friends and past relationships.
Memories and future memories.
My first kiss.
My first actual date.
My first fuck.
My first concert.
My first rave.
My first smoke.
My first snort.
My first injection.
My first tab.
My first beer.
My first marriage.
My first divorce.
My second marriage.
The birth of my child, Jeremiah.
The last memory is the funeral of my second wife.
She was on a plane.
Going to visit her family in San Francisco.
The plane had a mechanical failure.
A 40,000 foot fall to the unforgiving Earth.
I never get on a plane again.
I lay in bed for several days not moving a muscle.
Jeremiah sleeps in the crib next to me and plays around in the room.
The only times I get up are when I feed Jeremiah.
My boss calls telling me I'm fired for not coming in.
A tear falls from my eye.
I look back at myself.
His face returns to the true face of evil.
His eyes burn a yellow-orange and he is covered head to toe in open wounds.
He hands me the razor in his hands.
I take it.
I cut deep into myself revealing more memories.
This time worse ones.
Four years after the death of my wife my friend Andrew took me to the beach.
I left Jeremiah in the hands of a babysitter for the day.
I'm afraid of the ocean.
I watch him out swimming.
A current takes him under.
I keep watching.
A sickening smile forms across my face.
Four days later I go to his funeral.
I look down at his lifeless corpse.
I smile and leave, laughing on the drive home.
I go back home.
I drink in his honor, cursing his existence.
I open my drawer to pull out something I've been saving for awhile.
I tie one end to the support beam that stretches across the ceiling.
I tie the other end to my neck and step up on the chair.
Just as I am doing this, Jeremiah walks into the room.
I stare at him one last time and smile before kicking the chair.
The snap brings me back to the forest.
I look at my alternate self again.
His body is all deformed.
His legs and arms are snapped and the bones are piercing through the skin.
He offers me the razor again but this time I refuse.
A bright light flashes.
I'm back in the white cell.
I'm completely covered in scars.
My hair has been ripped out and will not grow back.
I look across the way at the younger me.
He is looking down the hallway at death approaching.
Death comes to my cell.
I look at Death.
I see myself.
My disgusting self.
Death hands me the razor.
This time when I cut myself, no dreams come out.
I lay on the cold floor.
The walls tear away as a tornado passes through the asylum.
I'm thrown back into the first alternate reality.
I'm staring at the dark side of myself once again.
He pulls out a knife and stabs me repeatedly.
The shock of pain wakes me up.
I'm back at the flatte.
Alone in the dark, searching for those bugs.
Where are they?
Where did they go?
It took me three days to come off of this trip entirely. After that I quit any kind of hallucinogen all together. Part of me feels like it's still stuck in that forest. I often have reoccurring dreams where I'm staring and conversing with that dark side of me. Even in dreams I have when I am not in the forest, he is there. Just watching me. Trying to hand me a razor to end it all. I refuse it again and again. I won't give in to his demands.