Trip to the Clouds

An unfortunately fortunate trip

Chapter 1

From the mind numbing goodness that comes with the decision to inhale drugs, I find myself readily throwing random pieces of clothing from the bottom of my unorganised drawers to the bottom of some suitcase. Although, I can't remember why...
My room is somewhat bare with only my psychedelic and band posters, along with my single bed - which is the main use for this room. The only thing that makes my room appear like someone lives in it is the colour-changing lights littered around the room and the abundance of clothes that carpet the floor.
     Just as I complete the satisfying zip of the suitcase I get a text from 'Call Me😉'. I don't remember typing that into my contacts. The message reads, "Your car is waiting." The question is...where is it taking me? Usually getting in a car with a stranger is not something regular people do but I guess I am not one of those people who make intricate plans for the day.
The car is indeed out front and looking pristine. It's one of those jet black company cars with blacked out windows, the type celebrities travel around in. I think to myself, who did I make friends with last night?! My eyes widen as the curtain of reality lifts... this car is for me. Curiosity and the sense of royalty get the better of me and I sashay towards the car, absorbing every moment of this pompous catwalk that I can.
Sitting inside the carriage I see champagne on ice, a mini fridge full of sodas: regular, diet, every kind. There's also a metallic bowl filled with salty crisps and bags of nuts sitting atop of the fridge.
Seriously... who is the mystery text from? Did they pay for all of this? How do they have the money? Why did they set this up for me? Where am I going? Am I completely insane to just get inside this car? Apparently so. Whatever the reason, for my gut telling me it would be fine, must be a hell of a lot better than what I would be doing elsewhere.
    The next thing I see is the only other human entity residing in the car. The driver, or should I say chauffeur. I can only see his face so who knows what kind of shoes he is wearing but he looks sort of young to be a professional chauffeur. He has a scratchy looking face as the result of his stubble and a few patches of acne scarring. A tuft of fallen autumn leaf brown hair sticks out from the bottom of his hat that I imagine to be from a costume shop, for the purpose of amusing myself.     
     Curious... no, intrigued, I ask the driver where he is manoeuvring this palace of a vehicle to. To my bewilderment he does not respond to my question. He doesn't even flicker his eyes. An ice glazes over his shrivelled pupils, like the kind that is glazed over a pond with all the fish still swimming underneath. This cold facade can't be who he really is, unless he's a robot in which case the world has come to an end and I'm being driven to a shipping crate full of a hundred other people which will be dumped to the depths of the ocean. That's a long shot, I know, it's the anxiety talking.
May as well tuck in to these complimentary snacks as I've been given no indication to how long this journey will be. As for entertainment, the driver isn't a hit I'll say that much! I resort to watching the outside world through my personal TV screen.
Watching as the sky high buildings move backwards on a constant conveyor belt, only stopping occasionally like someone remotely pressed pause. In reality, these buildings never move and are in a constant state of agony as they watch everything else move around them.