Love Is In The Smoke

A Long Night

Listen to The End by The Doors when reading this chapter.

3:17 AM.

This is the end, beautiful friend.
This is the end, my only friend.
The end.

I sit idly, staring, in a room that offers a lot of scope for detail. Detail that will adorn the first paragraph of a wannabe writer's pathetic attempt at writing, detail that will make my life worth a page in a book. In the end, the question always is:

Did you live your life well?

Good enough to base a book on?

So, I refuse to share the detail, staring at the cream colored wall in front of me, the cheap, fake paint peeling off at a dozen places. Fucking bastards, can't proper paint a wall for fuck's sake, I think, and a chuckle makes its way out of my mouth.

Looking down, I take in the mess I've made on the table, the purple and white powders lying in small heaps at random, some joints and some green coarse powder beside it. I roll the twenty dollar bill until it's the diameter of a regular straw. Taking the card, I separate some of the white powder into a fine line. I block my right nostril with the right index, and bending towards the table, bring the rolled bill to my left nostril.

In the name of dope, I say. And snort.

It hits.

It gets eerily silent around me, as if every last guy in the dorm suddenly fell asleep. The only sound right now is that of The Doors playing somewhere in the background. It feels apt.

Can you picture what will be, so limitless and free
Desperately in need, of some, stranger's hand
In a, desperate land

My mind is hazy, thinking reduced. My insides feel all mushy, as if the flesh and the bones collectively dissolved into a foam of euphoria. I feel giddy.

I see wings on my shoulders, wings painted as black as the midnight sky. Suddenly, I'm flying out the window, higher and higher, until the entire college appears nothing but a toy building. Then I'm falling.

Falling.

I scream in ecstasy, vertigo making my bowels turn water. Yet, the fear is exciting. I've not felt this kind of excitement in a long, long time. In fact, I've never really felt anything in a long, long time. I continue my downward spiral, seeing the clouds as they whiz past, hovering over me in eerie silhouettes, and then the buildings, the tallest trees, the shorter buildings, and then the houses, and when I'm finally about to hit the ground, a mammoth force churns my insides and lifts me off of the ground and gives me wings again. I soar again.

This is what you normally call a high.

Back in my room, I look at the amount of acid and coke I've got and estimate the number of highs.

I lose all sense of time and responsibility, not a worry left to mark my brow. The Doors, in all their glory, make way past the clouds into my ethereal abode, and I decide to join Morrison.

He walked down the hall, and...
And then he came to a door...and he looked inside

I smile.

Father?
Yes, son?

The smile grows wider.

I want to kill you.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

This is my first attempt at writing, well, writing for a platform. I am putting my heart and soul into this story, and I'd really, really appreciate if you like and press the little star below.

Much love.