• A little vial of bitter, lukewarm water. It veiled my complete soul. For the next several hours, I will be taken down a psychedelic adventure. As it courses through me, all I can see are objects intertwining. Morphing into myths and incantations. I became paralyzed with awe.

    I sit there, politely, not making any noise. Drowning the whole world into my mind. Comprehending every word spoken, but not making a sound. I make my procession through the room, to the kitchen. As I pick up a glass, it starts dripping. The glass isn’t even wet. It dropped and it didn’t shatter. I picked up the glass, it turned to ashes. I’ve finished with this unorthodox kitchen.

    I continue my procession to the washroom. A series of locks barricade the bathroom door. Each lock has a special function, a key, but not in physical form. I search the hallway for clues. The walls have spoken and given me the answer. I turn around to find the door ajar and continue my procession. As I gaze into the mirror, I begin to age relentlessly. My eyes peer into my very soul. I see the darkness and despair, luminescence and omnipotence that I posses. My pupils dilate. I must leave.

    I part towards the washing machine. I empty a load into the washer and pour an abundance of detergent onto the laundry. I stare at the strange symbols, uninterrupted for at least fifteen minutes. This infernal contraption is flogging me with wisdom. In short bursts, I make my way to the bedroom consisting of omniscient beings. “How in the hell do you work that washing machine?!” A strange, steady look followed by uncanny laughter. We arose and proceeded to the living room.

    The three of us sit on the couch and discuss our current visions. Her vibrant purple hair turned every color in the spectrum. The color of his iris bled out and left an abyss of black, tangible pupil. I picked up a guitar pick. It was red with a brand written in black font. My attention was drawn exterior to my thoughts for a brief moment. As my eyes peered down to the object placed adjacent in my palm, it disappeared. Assuming I had deceived myself, I checked the floor, couch, and my hands. I asked my friends if they saw it and checked my hands again. It’s gone, for eternity.

    I start to absorb the universe. We began to pickup before a series of moving pictures appeared on the screen. The Evil Dead 2 commenced a sonorous ballad of gore. Their shrill voices tormented me through the monotonous film. The main character lived in gruesome squalor, mortified by the abysmal deceased. A miscellaneous burden consumed him. As the movie began to decline, so did we. We loll about determining our next actions.

    Melancholy descended upon me as I fell abruptly. What seemed like a hiatus in our good times discretely turned into the end of our adventure. I dwindle in dysphoria for the remainder of my consciousness. Finally, I am at ease.