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This was far from the first time Chris had dropped acid. Actually, he’d been doing it since he was a preteen. Normally, he’d just get through it, enjoying the colorful people and animals that would fill his thoughts. And he’d somehow get that creative edge that he couldn’t really get through conventional means.
He was fully aware that he wasn’t the only person in his situation. In reality, he was just like everyone else. Everyone he knows, and everyone he knew. That’s probably why he thought it was okay. It couldn’t be that bad, if he’d gotten this far with “ease”, by comparison.
Chris was walking alone that day. It was a pretty nice evening. The orange sky made the cirrocumulus clouds look like pale flames. The sight was only heightened by the acid. Chris was admiring it, with his lips parted as if in awe.
He actually loved taking walks, especially while high. It made him feel grounded, ironically, which was something he rarely felt. He stretched his arms over his head, feeling the thick air between his fingers. At that moment, he was alive, whether he liked it or not.
Then, suddenly, he heard a laugh from a few feet behind him. He stopped in his tracks and whipped around. He saw a glimpse of some blonde hair, but it was gone before he could fully register it. His eyes darted around, looking for the hair, or at least the source of the laugh, but he saw nothing. Nothing besides a few houses of the Indian reservation he’d just entered.
It plagued him for some reason as he kept walking. It sounded really familiar, but he couldn’t place it. That was until he heard it again, followed by an unintelligible mutter. He didn’t even bother turning around that time, because he knew exactly who was speaking. It was Andy. Because of course it was.
He’d lost Andy about a year ago at that point- made a whole tribute album for him. But he still appeared in Chris’ dreams, his nightmares, and of course, his hallucinations. That was why he didn’t turn around. He started to hear some other voices as he kept walking, varying in volume.
“Oh, fuck, I’m hearing voices.” He actually said that out loud. Again, far from the first time this had happened. The voices were following him, laughing at him, but they weren’t getting any closer. It was almost comforting, because he was no longer alone.
Drugs, as far as he knew, didn’t change any part of his personality. They didn’t make him want to be a better or worse person. He could blame the sheer amount of times he’d done them for that, or maybe it was something else. They did, however, make him hyper aware of his existence, as well as the existences of his friends. Or, even, lack thereof.
He knew drugs killed people. It was impossible for him not to know that. When he thought about Andy, he saw an angelic figure that could do no wrong. He could easily forget what exactly it was that killed his dear friend. He was like a martyr. But Chris also knew how many people would follow in his footsteps.
A laugh slipped from Chris’ lips as he finally turned around and saw the group of people. There Andy stood, in the middle of them all, chatting freely. Chris felt no fear. He felt like he was at home.