Permanent Trip

Chapter 4: Bath Salt Berserker

Garrett felt good. He was riding high. He was underneath a bridge opposite of the part of town Cherry Lane was in. He was staring at some graffiti that pictured an image of a clown riding a beetle. Beetles were popping up everywhere. The beetles looked as if they were burrowing under the ground off of the picture. He crawled toward the beetles. He started to dig the dirt with his hands. He felt compelled to dig with the beetles. He dug and dug to the point his hands were turning red and raw and old wounds on his hands were opening up. After about ten minutes of digging with his hands, he uncovered something. It was a jar. He picked it up and looked at it and opened the can. He sniffed at it. It was bath salts. Everytime Garrett had been the most aggressive it had been because of bath salts. That was one drug he absolutely could not handle and it was one if his favorites. He sat the jar aside and looked to see the beetles were still digging. He started digging with his hands again. After a few more minutes of digging, he uncovered another object. A handgun.

Garrett was still under the bridge. He had checked the gun and it had a full clip. He was pacing around screaming. He waved the gun around yelling unidentifiable noise. He had already smoked the entire jar of bath salts. He had never done that much bath salts and the sensation he felt must've been how viking berserkers had felt. He was going to go on a rampage for no particular reason until he couldn't rampage anymore. He had never felt quite like this. He started up towards the bridge, the adrenaline loudly pumping. Once he reached the top of the bridge and looked and saw cars driving by. He started running around firing his weapon blindly. He could barely see and just fired and fired and fired. He had no real idea what he was doing. He ran down the road screaming, firing his weapon. All he could see were beetles and red. Garrett and the beetles arrived in town, ready for action.

When Garrett arrived in town, he somehow noticed his weapon was empty. He could hear police sirens over the blood pumping in his ears. The beetles were flying towards an alley and he quickly followed. They swarming over a pile at the end of the alley. It was a pile of weapons. He grabbed as many as he could, knives, guns, even grenades and stuffed them in his jacket. He could hear everything roaring in his ears. He headed out of the alley and started firing his shotgun. He saw a man leaving a gas station. He ran up to him and started beating him with the gun. Garrett then walked inside the gas station and cut the throat of the cashier and left the gas station by breaking a window. He ran around firing guns and destroying things. He couldn't think, he couldn't see. All he wanted was action. He went towards the Arby's he enjoyed snoozing at. He noticed something red oozing out of his chest. He had been shot. He turned around and ran straight towards the police officer who shot him and shot square in the forehead. Another officer shot at him and Garrett reached into his jacket and pulled out a grenade and threw it towards the officer. Five seconds went by and pieces of debris went everywhere. He screamed.

The only thing Garrett could see or notice at this point were beetles. The beetles swarmed Garrett's body. Garrett was a vessel for these bugs. For once, Garrett's life had a purpose. He was covered head to toe in wounds and beetles of all colors. He resembled some sort of living and repulsive flag representing addiction and violence. He could not be stopped. Whenever he was wounded, the beetles would plug the hole with their bodies, and Garrett would be on his merry way. Besides, Garrett was in no mental state to notice any pain. When he came down off this trip, it would prove fatal.