Dead Weight, a Rather Dark Tale About the Dangers of Drug Abuse

He was so mad, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t stop himself. He said some terrible things, things that he didn’t mean, he didn’t want to mean, he didn’t want to have said or have anyone to have said. His hands clenched tight around the shirt, the coarse fabric of the polo, and then let go, dead weight dropping to the floor in a sticky wet pool. Fuck was the first word out of his mouth, followed by an incomprehensible string of swears and vulgarities without any clear association “Fuck… Oh fuck… Fucking shit… Oh fucking shit! Oh fucking fuck shit!! Oh shit fucking shit cockmaster fucker!! Oh motherfucking shit ass shit bitch fuck shit fuck anus cock cunt fuck asshole cunnilingus fucking fuck shit ass fuck mothershitting fuckmaster, fucking asshole bitch cunt having cock sucking mother fucker! OH fucking shit!!! Oh shit…. Oh god…. Oh god why….” He fell down, forehead in the sticky pool beneath the dead weight, laying right on top of tbe body. The most troubling thing was that the sticky puddle went from a bright, vibrating green to a dark, deep red. He sat up, nothing was bright green anymore; not the streetlight, not the cars going by, not the bar, nothing. He looked down at the dead weight; it was no longer dark blue. Hastily he shoved his hand into his jacket pocket, the last thing that was bright green. He grabbed a bottle and hastily poured the whole thing into his mouth. If a few of the buds would tell him that green was good and blue things were bad, imagine what the whole of it could do. He chewed on it and stood up, walking past the street, then through the street into the gumdrop forest. He smiled as he went on, everything was a bright and beautiful vibrating green… He hated green. He grinned like a moron, shouting at everything green, expelling a fount of vulgar words from his mouth yet again at everything he saw; at the pixies, at the meat trees, at the wuzzberyls, everything. He didn’t even know what a wuzzberyl, he just knew that they were green and that he hated them, but they were so good on his eyes. Finally, a vicious screeching came from behind him. He gripped his head in pain and spun around to see a horrifying blue building, full of screaming and wailing. Standing outside was a giant blue penguin, the same color as the building so they melted together from time to time. Blue had to be destroyed, he knew that much. No matter how much he loved the color blue, he had to destroy it wherever it went, until it bled that horrible eyesore, the bright and beautiful vibrating green. In one motion he lunged at the penguin, taking it down much as he did the dead weight before. He grasped it around the throat and sobbed, sobbed openly as he shook it with all his might. Great green ghosts flocked out of the blue building and swirled around him, latching onto him and separating him from the penguin. He knew they were taking him away, away to a nice place. He didn’t know that the buds were peyote. He didn’t know that the penguin was a nun, that the building was a church, that the ghosts were concerned parishioners. He didn’t know that the dead weight was his brother, the one who had given him the bottle. He just knew what the buds had told him when he put it into his mouth; that everything green was good, everything blue was bad and must be destroyed. When he came to he would know this and he would be sorry, but it would not be enough, it would be far from enough.