Part I

My thoughts fade in as drops, falling from an unknown sky, and ripple throughout my consciousness in a sky blue pool of light. My torso is eight feet long, twisting under the covers as I continually work to get comfortable. My room is vibrating, just enough to keep me awake a little while longer, and I wonder if it will ever end, as I always do, hoping at the end that I'll be normal again, given enough time. It's always worth it.

We ascend creeking steps, paint fully chipped off, to the apartment door. The bottom half is covered in dried footprints from being pushed open by intoxicated feet, and the top corners fade from black to what was probably once white. I don't know where we are. Residually stoned from hours before, I don't worry about it, trusting to new friends leading me, despite having just spent two hours in the wrong place smoking cigarettes on an external window sill. We've arrived at a third source who could allegedly come through, and does. Eric's just called him, and the door is pulled open in quick stages, hinges cracking at each stop. Inside, the small rooms' walls are bare save the stains, like piss, somehow settled and dried on top of the paint before they were erected, those ubiquitous marks of more pressing concerns. The door is shut behind us, and we shake hands with him separately. His name is meaningless. He cuts a small square into ten thin strips, and we trade for one, uncomfortably making small talk. At two inches in length, it seems too small, but Eric assures me that it doesn't need to be any larger. We cut the strip into five equal pieces. "So I just put it in my mouth?" I ask. "Yeah. Once it's in, it's in." It feels even smaller under my tongue, but it's gone within ten minutes. We have forty-five minutes to get home before the reaction overwhelms us. Ryan's started the truck, and the anticipation begins.

"Fourth floor - going down."
I step out of the elevator and am confronted. "Hey man, Matt's kind of freaking out, come hang out with us in the commons."
Jim looks concerned, but he also looks like he's waxing and waning at the same time, stretching and shrinking, and rather than avoiding the subject I state, "I dropped acid like twenty minutes ago and I already feel really weird. I'm sorry man, I can't help you out." I give a weak smile and march to my room. Inside, I pause and look around, confused. What am I here for again?
My pack of cigarettes, not yet unwrapped, glows on the desk, and with a small laugh to myself I grab them and head up to Eric's room. The common area surrounding his door has three residents talking together, and though they pay me only a cursory glance, I am filled with anxiety about them simply being there - why are they there, what do they want from me, what if they know?
Eric's door opens and I enter, feeling my anxiety flow out with a quickly forgotten sigh, almost passing a mirror - but I stop. Each pore on my face opens up and closes as another near it opens its maw and drowns it out, an endless cycle of shifting patterns. My eyes have never looked so clear, the pupil an inky pool dripping out to the iris, so thin, barely a border to the solid white. It looks like my eyes are filled with water, and as just the thought causes them to be, I turn away.
Ryan grins at me. "How was that?"
Wiping my eyes, I mumble, "My whole face is melting randomly."
"I've gotten lost in my own reflection for an hour or more before, it gets crazy. Come over to Eric's side, let's play some Sonic."
Holy shit! Seriously? The screen is split horizontally and colors are sliding from right to left. I take the offered controller and say, "Hold on. What buttons do what?"
"This jumps." I look at the paddle, then back up, then begin holding right. As Green Hill Zone flashes by, I start to feel emotional. The blues dominate, and feel wistful, while the flashing greens from below spike into this wishful nostalgic chaos with a dirty, almost accusatory glare. I get lost in the frames, each a different experience, gasping during the moments of flight, laughing when rings go flying, and after about ten minutes I begin feeling overwhelmed. I glance over my shoulder at Eric, whose glance I somehow interpret to be upset. "What's up man?"
"What? Sonic. I think this was a bad idea. There's way, way too much going on." He glances down and up quickly, sniffs.
"Yeah, I was just holding right the whole time." I'm scared to look anywhere but his eyes, worried for some reason that maybe I'm the cause for his distress.
"You beat three levels." He glances again at me, then away. Each movement of his eyes rends my consciousness, and I realize that I'm caught in a light breeze, or maybe I've put my head just below the surface of a stream. Every bit of information coming to me is lightly brushing my hair, and as it does so I can feel the tingle of each strand to be the various interpretations possible.
"Uhm." I pause. Ryan's sitting in a chair, still staring at the screen. I realize that he's been saying variations on "Whoa..." the entire time. I look at Eric. "I kinda want a cigarette."
It seems like a simple proposition - take cigarette, walk downstairs, smoke cigarette. Instead it's like suggesting we return to our heyday of literal carhopping through neighborhoods... we spend the next fifteen minutes arguing over what the plan is, and eventually decide to just go for a walk to calm our nerves. This one full pack of cigarettes is looking like less and less.