Backseat Drivers

Vamoose

It was beautiful, the way the jellyfish moved in a glorious translucence. It was frustrating because Aika was the only one who could see them, and she wanted so much for Roy and Sean to share her wonder. They'd all agreed the the pink lighting had become more vivid and that the ceiling was turning concave, but for some reason they just couldn't see the jellyfish. Regardless, Aika revelled in the fact that she could, and she lay on her back staring upwards as they circulated above her, spreading a wonderful blue hue like mist in the air. Holographic waves followed them, like bending graphs of colour - it was difficult to explain. That's why she didn't try. She just let it wash over her. Reaching out for the bowl of fruit in the middle of their small circle, she lifted her hand and held the small section of orange up to the light to examine it. Oranges had never glowed until now - and when she put it to her tongue, she could taste the glow; it was radiant and sharp, refined against her taste-buds. Succulent.

Roy hadn't taken as much as the other two. He could see that Sean was walking himself straight into an internal trap, though he'd only just started to think about perhaps slowing his friend down. At first he'd assumed you couldn't get addicted to mushrooms, that was a general rule of drugs - but Sean's mind didn't work in the same way that everyone else's did. Sean got bored - Sean couldn't bear the idea of falling into the same mindless life that everyone else led. It wasn't getting dangerous, per-say, but it was becoming concerning - and Aika was determined to experience as much of the 'other dimension' as she could, following right in Sean's footsteps. When he was sober, he needed to remember to stop them. Or talk to them. Or ... mentally scrutinise them, see if they had some sort of aura. Then he had the thought that someone's aura might not be a colour. What if it was an element? Like snow, or earth. What if someone's aura was hot tarmac or melted mint? Or grapefruit? He wanted to shout up right now, see if there was a God so he could answer all of these questions that were so vehemently clouding his common sense. Not right now, though. Aika had asked them to be quiet so she could focus on her sting-rays or whatever the hell it was she'd been obsessed with for the past thirty minutes.

A smile rested on Sean's face as he lay on the leather sofa. 'Love Me Right' was playing on repeat in his head, and he finished constructing his fifth critical review on Rene Descartes' work, vowing to himself that one day he'd put pen to paper and write it all out. It had burned out his mind, and now he feared he'd spent far too long pondering his vocabulary choices. Move on. Next thought: fireworks. He wanted to find some fireworks, and somehow mix them with paint. Or perhaps a smoke bomb - paint was impractical. An explosion of colour - he'd erupt it somewhere and create a vortex of reds, blues, yellows, greens, purples ... he moved on again, somewhere between the realm of lucid dreaming and astral projection. The latter was to be his next task, and perhaps then he'd be more control of the patterns that manifested before his eyes, and able to control his senses. That would be good. 

-

Calum arrived back sometime around 3AM, deeply intoxicated, squinting a little through his right eye to try and focus on his surroundings a little more clearly. As he stumbled into the reception, he failed at first to even notice the guy sat rigidly on the floral armchair by the empty desk, gripping the fabric with whitening fingers. One arm leant against the wall, Calum pinched the bridge of his nose to try and steady himself, but the ominous voice from the armchair caught his attention.

"You ..." said the guy in the armchair, a crazed look in his eye. "You ... were at the services that time."

Calum observed the coke-addict in front of him, bewilderment on his face. The fact that he was still seeing doubles of things didn't help the wave of disorientation that came on at the sight of the services guy. He let out a sigh-laugh, and dropped his hand from his face.

"You got me in shit tonight. I thought I saw you in a club."

For some reason, the guy didn't clock Calum's words, and he stood up, the glint of the switchblade in his right hand catching in the light with the movement. Calum's eyes darted down, and then back up to the guy. Was his lack of fear because of his drunkenness, or did he really just not care? He pushed himself up off the wall in a languid exasperation.