A Colourful Night

Sitting here, complacently waiting, I wondered how good this batch was. Previous expeditions on this drug had provided mixed reactions. The last time I had dropped one, it had been the worst experience of my life. I didn’t even trip, it just felt like I was coming down straight after it kicked in. He promised these ones were better, having sampled a few dots for himself.

I had no music or television on, preferring the calm silence and quiet excitement of waiting to come up. How long ago had I taken it now?

One hour? One minute? One second?

Time seemed so hard to perceive all of a sudden. The window was open, and the gentle breeze slowly amplified to a dull roar. Sounds of a distant ocean wafted in, with traces of a flute being played somewhere on the crest of the salty breeze, or possibly on some boat in that ocean.

Although it was still reasonably bright, I had thought ahead and turned on a few lamps. The closest one had no shade over the bulb. The glassy surface shone, then oozed with viscous fire, flames permeating lazily through the still-intact glass. Flickers of deep blues and lush purples danced among the tongues of fire, creating the effect of a localised firework in mid-explosion.

Slow dribbles of fire ran down the body of the lamp, cascading down the table legs, and soaking into the carpet, creating a growing damp patch that suddenly started to suck everything into the floor, like a black hole of magma.

The rest of the room appeared pitch-black, light being sucked into the one bulb to create one ultra-bright source of light. It was a keyhole into the next room, one which contained the sun, and all I could do was peek through the hole from my world of infinite darkness.

It was not funny, so I did not laugh. I merely made recommendations for some comic relief next time, as it would lighten the mood. Some people do not get jokes; they think they aren’t funny.

The majority of my body felt like dead weight now; I sensed futility in trying to move my limbs without external assistance. It would pass, I reminded myself. At least I thought it was me that reminded me.

Reaching for the remote, I noticed how marvellously intricate the hand is. The fingers appear so complex yet delicate. Five fingers, and never enough finger food. I had forgotten how long my arm was as well, it took quite awhile to reel it back in.

Oh, the T.V. was already on. A strange occurrence, how things confuse me sometimes. Of course I turned it on, it must have just slipped my mind, it’s a slippery surface, that mind of mine. I convinced my eyes to let me see what was on the screen, but they wouldn’t work for me. Were they angry with me?

What’s this?
The News: The Opera.

They sang stock exchange figures and portrayed the weather through the medium of dance. Coincidence only goes so far; I was destined to make toast.

Think about it, all the signs were there. An advertisement for butter on the T.V. and the presence of bread in the kitchen. I would be foolish not to take a chance on this series of seemingly inexplicable string of coincidences. Approaching the kitchen with awed wonder for shiny objects, I set about the task of applying heat to bread.

After attempts without number at finding the bread, I gave up, hardly remembering what I was doing in the kitchen. Resigned to the fact that someone else was eating my toast, I suddenly decided that I wanted it to be Christmas.
I wanted to watch the Queen’s speech, and point out holes in the plotline. Inconsistent rubbish, diarrhoea of television.

I thought it was getting especially dark, and cold. I thought I might have thought it, at least I thought I did.
My bed seemed a marvellous idea now, but my sobering mind told me that I would not sleep steadily or sleep without having very strange dreams.

Let them come.