The moment was serine, or so Fae thought. Barely a stones throw from her family home, the one which she had spent most of her life residing at, disregarding the past few years where she lived with one partner or another. The night was crisp on her bare skin, a cold front in theory foreboding what was to come. The autumn had been especially long and dry allowing winters embrace to slip unnoticed as the days grew inevitable shorter.
The cigar felt oddly warm to the touch as she sought the lighter, she knew she put in her jacket pocket a gift from her most recent love. Letting out a sigh of relief she deftly blocked the whisper of a breeze from her near empty clipper. Creating light suction she gently, almost lovingly breathed life into the, to her mind, beautifully wrapped tobacco. She knew the ornate branding “Villiger PREMIUM No7 SUMATRA” with stylish rendition of cigar itself was probably neat marketing to convince her that the product was higher quality than it was however her throat burned from overusing her handheld and with yet another governmental increase on tobacco pricing a £4 cigar suddenly seemed far more palatable than a 20 pack for £20 plus.
A deep earthy, almost spiced, aroma filled her mouth and olfactory system. Breathing in deeply, nasally of course, she envisioned the cavity in her lower back expanding as she exhaled measurably slower than her inhale. Several small drinks with her parents, a “heroic” dose of an edible, on another night such a thought would have brought a gentle smile to her face however not this night.
Something, felt, different. She was no stranger to spirituality, several ego deaths and trips to the respiratory and psychiatric ward long hardened her to fluctuations. Looking upwards she looked into the light of the near full moon. November, a beaver moon, she chuckled at the lack of such a moon on her biology.
“Alligator Skin Boots” by McCafferty played through her new headphones, autism friendly as such is jargon for good sound cancelling and comfort. Her last pair sitting under a bridge, thrown aside in her last fit of mania. Well she thought to herself for the countless time, taking another sweet inhale of her Villiger mania lexically and psychologically is an inaccurate (outdated) term for complex substance dependence and cptsd. It was also the £120 edible she had taken followed by £480 worth that she took over the next month, she was cutting back. Obviously, this was not the price she paid for such although a 15g homemade edible batch was nothing to sneeze at were she to be dumb enough to sell a class b however, shaking her head at such notions. She would not fall down that rabbit hole, contrary to common understanding the slope from stoner into low lever dealer was such a slippery slope after all when three joints in the evening was a goal to try and cut back to it wasn’t economically viable to buy smaller quantities and so a q (7g) turned into a half oz to a full oz, well her girlfriend at the time was buying such amounts. Fae’s first drop was an oz and she number of drops less than that she could probably count on one hand, well maybe two sometimes there were no strains worth buying large quantities of or her card had frozen before she could get a large enough amount out.
Breathing deeply again through her nose she looked down at the somehow still barely smoked cigar. A careful nursing brought the tip to a satisfying molten glow. Nursing, another rye chuckle, she was allowed to laugh, medical trauma and all. Another deep inhale, slow exhale, the drugs were getting the better of her. In her mind the number one factor for trips was to keep hold of consciousness, whatever form the trip took so long as she followed whatever felt most right, she could. Her mind scattered, flickered as she felt it.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Something was. Different. She couldn’t work out what it was however, intentionally slowing her breath once again she sought a visualisation, something she could focus on and return to, a meditation of such but of her own design. The esoteric path. An ache deep within her back twinged unpleasantly. Low body maintenance she thought in passing, traversing cannabinoids whilst maintaining healthy habits was still something she was mastering. But no, she could, use this the pain in her back. Her tattoo, moulding to her spine, flowing down her right side, the pain, red she could see it, feel it. Ink, blood, fire, she pushed the image to her left shoulder. Imagined her muscles chording, weaving into something stronger, finding. Her brain screamed at the effort. Too much, too localised slowly she visualised strands of black fire, black and red, no plasma. Not constrained by factors such as pressure nor wind and her back, the pain too much if she. Wings. Made of blood and dark fire and. And. Nothing.
She nursed the cigar back to life; it was nearly gone. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to happen. Perhaps finally spark her pineal gland into action, connect to something more. Half remembered flashes near incomprehensible images and concepts from half remembered half experienced states of being flickered for an instance in her consciousness. She should probably pick up soon. She smoked less when she had more variety, hoarder’s mindset or whatever, it was in her blood. A frown flickered across her brow, family issues. Her nicotine addiction perhaps was in part a rebellion against her parents however buying 7g for £90 or 3oz +10g dust and one 1000mg thc vape for £620 sure the risks of getting caught were higher, same with being screwed over but it was simple economics. She had the capital, or an overdraft and her middle-class parents as a safety net. She had done retail, six months, honestly, she would risk the carceral system, worse case she would have 2 years waiting for court and then for all she knew cannabis laws would change in Scotland by then, 2025 legalisation sounded like a campaign she could run.
Had she have not been mid edible and having a severe nicotine high plus a slight numbing from alcohol, she should really cut that out, she would have noticed earlier a small blue box flashing rhythmically at the bottom of her vision. Absentmindedly as she had just felt a large pop in the back of her head. Used to visual hallucinations she focused her attention on it intending to grasp it and hurl it away, however, as she felt it within her minds eye information. Flew.
She knew.
She was dying, the floor cold against her cheek. Darkness, nobody around, a quiet path. She saw the future. An aneurism, perhaps a stroke, it could have been anything but she felt her breath, gasping, this was different to the previous times. She also. Knew.
She knew she had a thought, a choice, that was it. She knew that she could die or the message focusing the last vestiges of her consciousness she brought the words into her vision.
Congratulations! You have reached the minimum requirements for enlightenment/ascension/evolution! However, as we know the universe is a metric of consciousness/consent/choice so you have two choices in front of you. Conscious or unconscious reincarnation?