This is a short story that I wrote based on real events

 

1. The Beginning

Their faces began to come over in flashes of insincerity. The MDMA had affected us to a certain point where the brain appeared to behave in a dysfunctional manner, in a state of confusion. A joint was being passed around; I had quit cannabis in the past because of the sheer dread and paranoia it made me feel, but I knew that it was the only way I could border on theta activity. No one knew what I was thinking.

          The cannabis subdued me somewhat, words became fewer and insincerity within the group increased; however I often thought that this was just my skewed perception, everyone else seemed to be more euphoric, in their strange ways, whereas I was descending into dysphoria. Denny and his girlfriend were messing around with each other, I could tell they wanted to fuck, although I doubted he could with all the drugs he had consumed; perhaps he’d achieve an erection but they’d be at it all night until morning. Denny’s girlfriend had the most insincere, confused face of all; she unsettled me. Whilst I did not know her, there was something very out of character about her. The room was falling apart in atmosphere and topography and the bodies these people encompassed soon became dreary masses of matter strenuously attempting to sustain this dilapidating ambiance.

          I soon moved into the bedroom… There was a cold, musty and damp feel to the room. The walls were high and bare. The bedding was thin and used; the room was dingy. I climbed into bed, of course fully clothed, and I lay there. Now on my own, without the sound of the others, I could hear a ringing and hissing from my ears, or more precisely my brain. Tinnitus is a strange phenomena in that with subjective tinnitus, the sound does not actually exist, it does not move airwaves, it is an illusion that the brain creates; this notion of pseudo-sound makes the whole thing more dire. I began to worry, thinking about whether I’d caused damage to my hearing. The worry spiraled me into a state of dread, of a more intense state than I was already in; this dread had been waiting for me, it had been accumulating over the past few months. Everything hit me at once.

          Rapid, flashing images of dark, distorted faces began to appear in my imagination sequentially, murderous episodes and sexual perversion engulfed my thoughts… And I was the culprit. In my imagination I was repeatedly stabbing people in their faces, leaving gaping holes in their heads, defusing their ability to be. Striking red blood gushed from their stupid faces; it was horribly beautiful… Oh my! The colours! I would rape dead bodies… piles, upon piles of dead bodies; the smell of rotten flesh now burned into my memory of which drove my ability to climax at the time. This hadn’t happened at such high intensity and vividness before. I tried to suppress these thoughts, but in doing so my attention was drawn even closer. I saw there was a heater in the corner of the room, I switched it on and curled up beside it in the fetal position in the hope that the warmth may bring comfort and thus the mitigation of these horrendous thoughts. I could feel time… The clock in the room was loud and incessant; ruthless… I began to wonder if there was space between where one second ends and the next one begins. I felt that I had entered a new dimension in the macro structure of time. I believed there were infinite substructures of time, in the space between the seconds of which ignited this very thought. This temporal navigation system seemed to provide more time, yet there were no activities to consume this rewarding discovery. I then began to question if I was really in the present tense; if time is instantly fleeting into the past, how does one exist in the present tense? Is it in the very second, or milliseconds, or however minimally can be measured, that one exists in the present tense? I began to question if I actually existed. I thought I had lost my mind but a very small, rational part of me realised this to be false as my brain activity was excessive. Suddenly though, the sexually perverse and murderous thoughts came racing down the tubes in my head without any warning… completely involuntary. The night was long and the drug comedown was upon me. I stared into space where I could see atmospheres and small flickering dots, purposefully twitching my leg muscles; this action consumed my mind for the hours to come.

 

2. ‘Home’

          I arose in the morning to someone in the bathroom throwing up, I could tell by the sound of the throat clearing that it was my elder brother. I walked straight out of the room to halt him in the hope that we might be soon leaving for home, which was not at all my home; it was the home of my mothers’ dysfunctional relationship with a man. I had been lying down with my eyes closed for the majority of the night, battling with my thoughts, imagination and interior voice… I was ready to go.

“Are you alright?”

“Yea, I’m fine, go back to bed”

“When can we go home?” I asked timidly

“When everyone’s awake…”

Time didn’t exist in this fucking house.

          At some point these masses of matter began to ascend. I was trying to make sense of their faces; they looked guilty, wide-eyed and distressed. I didn’t trust anyone… Not even my brother.

Did they come to realise that everything in life is tragic and chaotic… was this the key to mass realisation? A cataclysmic awakening…

We should feel guilty, we should be ashamed and we should not rejoice. 

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