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by 1tskreg

by 1tskreg

Rodney shuffles through his cell, his bouncy, greased-up perm sticking to his shoulders. The sound of coughing and groaning echoes from every direction, causing him to groan in retaliation, as if it'll somehow quiet the never-ending cacophony of unpleasant noises.

"Rod!" shouts a European man from the cell beside him. Rodney never really knew which part of Europe he descended from, all he knew was that the man had strange habits and was absolutely not of American origin.

"What?!" Rodney hisses back in response, pressing his head against the moist and grimy bars that separate the inmates from each other.

"Man... I've got these Bennies. You wanna share?"

"Bennies?" Rodney was pretty sure that meant Benadryl. Why the hell would he want Benadryl? Sure, it was some sort of drug, but he wasn't convinced that the drug would do anything other than give him a big old headache.

"Yeah, man... come on, I've got a lot. I mean, you gotta take a lot for them to work, so just trust me." A long, olive-tanned hand reaches out into the open, to which Rodney responds by quickly snatching them. He thinks that perhaps this could be worth a shot. Maybe they really did something.

Inspecting the little pink pills in his own hand, he slides up against the wall and starts whispering to the man with much more curiosity laden in his voice, "you said you gotta take a lot? What do they do? Should I take them all?"

The Eurofag snickers from his cell and lets out a resounding, "yes," before proceeding to talk in a much more hyper voice, "what do they do? They let you see things, man... you'll be chilling. You'll be good."

Rodney quirks an eyebrow and begins to pace, dragging his feet, his long footsteps booming loudly enough for the European inmate to hear him from his own cell, despite the racket of noise already present.

"Rod... ROD, YOU GOTTA JUST TRY THEM!" The European sounds amused at Rodney's act of confusion and hesitance, and this upsets Rodney. He can't be seen as a prissy, a pussy boy.

"Yeah, yeah..." Rodney shrugs his broad shoulders and pops the pills straight into his mouth, which is rough as he struggles to forcefully swallow the bunch that stick in his throat. He then lets out a groan of exhilaration, his hand covering his mouth as he descends to his bed, stretching out his back and pondering the possible trip he's about to have.

He nearly falls asleep, his eyes flickering open to stare up at the grey and depressing ceiling. Something stirs him awake, or rather, he may have woken himself. He feels parched, trying to roll over, though his head swirls and he groans in frustration. A chill passes through his body as he sits up, both hands pressed firmly on the mattress on either side of him. His head hangs low, forgetting he had glasses on as they jolt him out of a trance with their loud landing on the cell floor.

"Fucking..." He can't summon up the energy to curse nearly as much as he'd like to. He's still aware that he's supposed to be on a trip of some sort, but all that he feels like is that he's having a fever. His arms wrap around his chest as he self soothes in an awkward hunched over position, millions of thoughts racing through his pounding head.

"Rod!" A prison guard taps his baton against the cell, causing Rodney to thrust his head upwards and nearly scream at the shock. It's almost like in that moment, his head had thrusted up millions of times and he was in a loop of slow motion and slow time. He couldn't see clearly enough to make out which guard it even is, or if it even is a guard.

"Is something wrong? Is something wrong? Is something wrong? Is something wrong?" The guard's voice loops in Rodney's head, causing him to instinctively shake his head. He's left alone, and he immediately fixes his body into a fetal position on the bed, his whole body shaking as he processes what is slowly but surely becoming a sensory hell.