this is a short story I did: I have yet to rewrite it. It needs editing.His body was as lifeless as a rotting corpse, yet as he let into the apartment building, he never felt so free as he did then. There was something releasing about being on the edge of ruin. Reduced to debris when he already felt like nothing in this world. He had been beaten down to death empathically, the loss of feelings was perfectly blocked by healing himself with booze and weed, various prescription pills which he popped like candy. Of course he would never be that honest. He was having fun, parting, doing what every other 30 year old does. time. It didn’t have an effect on him differently than other people. ‘They’ had made up this junk about him having a mental illness, and him being different. It was a conspiracy. To make him look crazy. Why they wanted him to look crazy and who ‘ They’ exactly were was beyond him. Now he would have to deal with shit that most people would never have to deal with in their entire life. But it wasn’t him. He never had anything to do with it.
I Weed out your honesty starting from nothing
He walked in and lit up a joint, turned up a CD. Smoking weed made him act in other peoples minds like a typically paranoid person would act, so he had heard from more then one of his ’friends’( since people really weren’t friends the were spies for the FBI), but right now he was too stoned to care. That was why he smoked. His mind was telling him that people were against him, always have been, always will be. The feeling was heighten in his body by the numbness he was beginning to feel. Instead of taking it as it was, he took it to mean something else. He knew he felt hatred, but after another puff it was gone, and replaced by nothingness one again.
But that was what everyone experienced when they smoked herb.
His phone rang. He answered the phone, voice wavy and uncaring “ Yeah”
“ Hey David, How come you don’t answer your phone anymore?” It was one of his friends, one of the spies.
“ you know I can’t pick up when I’m doing you know what…”
“ What? What are you talking about? Are you high?
“ Shhhhhh. I can’t say it. DON’T SAY IT OVER THE PHONE!”
“ Oh, right man, Hey, I was wondering if you could give me back my CD. You’ve had it, for like, two weeks now”
“ Oh, Don’t you remember you gave me your CD. It was a gift.”
“ C’mon man, stop fucking around. That CD is my mom’s and she wants it back so she can listen to it- The grateful dead is her favorite band, I can’t give that to you, I loaned it to you and you’ve had it for too long, you need to leave that apartment, come over and give it …”
“ Hey I was kidding, can’t you take a joke. Seriously though. can’t I ask your mom for that CD, do her sexual favors for it or something…”
There was a pause.
“ I gotta go. My girlfriend is on the other line Dave. I’ll call you back”
Dave hung up the phone, pleased with himself. He loved how he could say whatever to someone who was a ‘friend’ and get away with it. Friends and strangers always let him get away with everything. He knew he was charismatic and charming. He could do anything right now, even though people where always trying to fuck him up, make him think he was crazy. He was superman.
He took out the prescription anti-psychotic that he never needed and cracked the pills open. He opened the pills up and diced up the powder inside the pills with a razor.