Chewing On Glass Presents… Tripping On A Hole In A Paper Heart…

In a classroom full of Macs the information they must process, but they are here at this shit school. Which means they go to waste. Been in this class for over a week and we have yet to even turn one on. I’m in a classroom full of people I hate. Locked in a room with no key with people like me. Each and every one of them thinks they are better than me. Better than everyone else. The room feels claustrophobic and small. The room feels like hell. There are only twelve of us occupying the space, but it might as well be a thousand. The drugs I took today are not making this feeling go away. If anything they may have been bad, tainted. The teacher speaks in a way that is hard to understand. It is time to strap in.

It feels as if she is only talking to me, and I have to keep reminding myself that she isn’t. The students seem faceless. They have the blankest of stares that I can’t understand. I can’t see their eyes or their mouths. I begin to sweat and I have to take my sweatshirt off. It isn’t enough to escape the feeling that the room is on fire. I want to strip all of my clothes off as if this is normal. But I’m not high enough yet to just do it. The teacher keeps talking and the more I stare the more I notice that something seems to be leaking from her eyes. She is smiling and laughing as more blood pours from her eyes. The room erupts with the sound of laughter as the others join in. Their laughs float in the air as if they are real objects. I fight the urge to reach out to one. Take it into myself so I could join in. I’m getting even more nervous by the moment. My sweat has soaked through my shirt and I realize I am trapped in a nightmare the drugs are creating.

I start to see smoke come from behind the teacher. This must be where the feeling of being trapped in a fire is coming from. I fight the urge to shout anything out. Foot tapping to the restrained words inside my head. Faster and faster my foot taps to a broken beat. The smoke gets thicker and I find it hard to breathe. The orange glow of fire starts to fill the back of the room. I feel the heat of the fire on my face. Maybe this is real, but why aren’t the other students shouting and screaming? Why are they just sitting there laughing as if everything is okay? I fake a smile as I look at their blank faces. My face feels stretched against the fire. Locked in place with a crooked smile. I want to leave but I am afraid. Afraid of what I might find outside of this room. The teacher rises from her chair at the head of the class. A monstrous force with pitchfork in hand. She waves it around her pointing it at each and every one of us. Impaled fetus rest on each fork. Cooked and barely distinguishable from burnt up sausages. Only the little charred hands pointing back at me. She screams with a horrible sound that has no equal. She screams in a language I can’t understand. A lost language that hasn’t been spoken since the dawn of time. She paces the front of the room. Only stopping to pound her pitchfork and let out another scream. It’s not real. It’s not real. The other students respond back with their own horrible screams. It’s not real. I just need to ride this out. I close my eyes and place my head on my desk.

The heat around me rises to an unbearable degree as the pounding of her pitchfork gets closer and closer until I can feel her right above me. I scream as her burning hand touches my shoulders. Her face has transformed into a face of scales and blood. She whispers to me as she looks into my eyes. I watch as the students are engulfed in flames. They make no noise as they burn. Through the fire I can now see all of their eyes. All of their eyes staring back at me. The teachers places her face directly in front of me. All I can see is her. Her scales breaking off into little flakes as she moves her mouth. “I can’t,” is all I can manage to say. I fight the urge to vomit and scream at the same time. I grab my backpack and try to ignore the fact that it feels like something is moving inside. Running through the flames I know this isn’t real, but I can’t stay here any longer. I reach for the red hot handle attached to the black door. The handle feels cold as I push down on it and enter the hallway on the other side.

The black door slams, but it sounds as though it is coming from far away. I struggle through the hallway. Making my way towards the stairs. Each foot step feels like a fight. Feels as though the bottoms of my shoes have melted to the floor. Should I take them off? Even in a nightmare state that seems like a bad idea. It takes me a moment before I notice the others. I am not alone as I make my way through the building. More faceless students surround me. Each one with a knife in their hands. I try to not draw any attention to myself. Each step, each leg pulled with all the effort I have left. I need to get to my car. It goes on like this for what feels like an eternity. It goes on so long I forget what it is that I am doing and fall just before the stairs. I manage to catch myself. The hallway grows silent. The students are no longer going about their business. Picking myself up off the floor I look around. The faceless students stare back at me. Each one holding their long butcher knife beside them. The blades shine as they turn them from side to side in an offbeat synchronized rhythm. The light in the hallway reflecting off each and every one of them. I feel an intense amount of dread fill my stomach. I don’t wait for them to do anything as I run down the stairs in horror.

Step by step in a rapid fashion. Until I miss the last step. Slamming face first onto the floor. I hear a rush of footsteps approach me. One of the faceless students tries to help me up. Their knife rested next to me on the floor. It speaks to me in a way that I don’t understand. I kick away from the face my body filled with pain and shock. I crawl my way to the nearest door and manage to get myself up on my feet. One of my feet hurts but I can’t tell which one. My fears of going outside were justified. The sky is no longer sunny or blue. The sky has turned a shade of red and the clouds have become a black so dark that it couldn’t possibly be real. Little red flakes fall from the black clouds. They float down around me in a slow motion usually reserved for the movies. The flakes make their way to the ground and they slowly melt as each one makes it to the ground. Forming puddles of blood that litter the pavement. Bigger and bigger the puddles grow with every passing moment. It’s not real. It’s not real. I sprint towards the parking lot. Pain shooting up one of my legs.

The cars are misshapen and I can’t tell which one is mine. I take out my keys and press the panic button. My car begins to honk somewhere in the distance. The lights of the car flash on and off in shades of blue, red, green, and purple in no real order. They flash in a pattern that says here I am. I run to the car. Unlocking it with a push of a button and turn the panic mode off. I open the back passenger door and crawl inside. Crawl inside my new womb. The seats feel slimy and warm. The seats feel like home. A warm womb with windows? This isn’t real. This isn’t real. What is anymore? I ask myself as the seats pulsate as if they are real.  I bury my head into the back seat and close my eyes against the warm. Feels as though my head is surrounded by water. Through it all I hear it. The sound of music, the sound of talking, the sounds of a distant memories I have long forgotten. The sounds of it all are taking over little by little by some outside noise.  I hear scratching on the sides of my car. Too afraid to open my eyes I just scream into the seat. Scream until I finally pass out to the sounds of the students dragging their knives across the sides of the car. Waiting tear me away from my new home. Hands and knives pressed against the sides of my womb.

Wait… What the fuck?… Yeah I don’t know either… I spent a lot of time messing with this one… the basic idea was always there from the beginning… as most ideas are… first draft was weird and crazy… apparently I have always been weird and a little bit off… who knew?… but I thought lets turn this shit up to eleven… fun fact… I had to be removed by C section… had to be torn from my first home as well… if I hadn’t there was a good chance I would have died… cord was tied around my throat… my life line was not ready to let go?… I was also super late… two weeks… my mom thought I was never going to come out… almost didn’t as it turns out… spoiler alerts I made it…

I often wonder though… as the cord was tied around my neck… and the doctors told my mother to push… that in those moments… something happened to me… turned on a switch… told me to live… not to given into everything that was happening to me… of course these are adult thoughts… these are thoughts I have when all hell feels as though it surrounds me… I tried to inject that idea into this character… give him a piece of me… this isn’t real… this isn’t real… which this story isn’t… I’ve never done acid or any psychedelic drugs… for every reason presented above in the story…

If I can imagine all of that sober… I am afraid of what I would see high… which is where this story started… I like to explore the idea of what I might find over… actually going to find it… grass is greener where the dogs are shitting and all… I have been lucky… or too uncool… to have never been around drugs… I knew people who do them… know people who do a lot of them… just not around me… and all those that I know who do a lot of them… live a life I would never want to live… it looks brutal… miserable… but that is the life that they choose… that sounds like I am an asshole… and that could be a whole other post… condensed version of what I believe about life… is that we make our own choices…

I write a lot about drugs… A Lie for example… other stories found on this website… I try at all times to not make them sound fun… they very well could be… but I really doubt it long term… I have tried a few… the ones that I have tried I have liked… one for a short term (marijuana)… the other… well if you have been paying attention to the website for the last year… long term in a bad way (alcohol)… nothing too crazy… but in the very limited scope of what I have experienced… being sober has always been better… like everything in life… never at the time… only in hind sight…

So back to the question or thought I presented… why do you write a lot about drugs?… Honestly because they’re something physical… something tangible… something most of us can understand… because we all know someone or know someone who knows someone that does drugs or knew… some of us have done them ourselves… and also because you can’t inject… or snort… or smoke sadness… but as it turns out you can… and in the case of A Lie… that is where I went with that… same as I went here… this story isn’t real… I didn’t trip on acid and fall asleep in my car… I had a panic attack and feel asleep in my car instead… that is where fiction and truth collide… that is where I like to stand… that is where I like to be when I write… could I have written the same story for the same effect without drugs?… yep… but it would have been boring… been like digging at an old wound… where is the fun in that?… find out next week… complete with pictures as we dig deeper into my chest… : )

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

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