ISH

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is basically a story in progress about my life, and what I do every day. Judge all you want, but some pretty interesting shit happens. If you smoke weed, you will understand.

Submitted: September 16, 2010

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Submitted: September 16, 2010

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I saw nothing except for the altered version of my face in the mirror. I saw no emotion, no trace of who I used to be. Staring into the mirror, I kept hoping to find something that would indicate that I was, in fact, still a living human being. Putting my palm over my chest, I feel my rapidly beating heart. \"Well,\" I think, \"I'm not dead. Not yet at least.\"
\"Hey Kaitlin!\" I hear from the basement. \"Come back downstairs, the blunt is hittin hard!\"
\"Alright!\" I respond. \"I'm coming, dude.\" Taking one last glance in the mirror, I look into my bloodshot eyes and wonder why I couldn't simply be high all the time.
I emerge from the curtain that hides the small bathroom, and look down the intimidating flight of stairs. The longer I look, the more stairs appear. The flight is steep, and my legs already feel like jelly. How will I make it down these stairs? I will have to be careful. Extending one leg, I make sure to take my time and be patient. Bending my knee seems extremely dificult and I can't remember how I normally do this. Five minutes later and I have finally descended the staircase, which only contains ten steps.
I pull back the curtain to the basement and am greeted by a blacklight that illuminates the white shamrock on my tie-dye shirt, as well as my white flip flops. The whole room reeks of weed, reggie to be exact, and I take my VIP seat on the couch. Everyone else in the room knows better than to sit in my spot; if they did, it would not be pretty.
\"Dude, hit this. What took you so long?\" Abby asks as she hands me the blunt. I take a long drag from it, inhaling the magic smoke and letting my bloodstream soak it up. I exhale, and explain that the steps were more of a chore than I originally planned. Everyone laughs, knowing this is something that would only come from a stoner such as myself. I look around the room and realize I only know about two of the kids.
I ask Abby the usual question, \"Can I get a gun?\" She nods, and puts the blunt in her mouth with the burning end, the cherry, in her mouth. She blows on the cherry and I suck up the smoke through my nostrils, achieving an even better high. When the smoke starts to make my nostrils feel as though they're going to explode, I pull away and signal that I am done, and she can stop now. She takes the blunt out of her mouth, hits it, and passes it on to the kid next to her. I watch the kid take a tiny hit off the blunt, start coughing, and then pass it on while saying, \"Damn I'm so high.\"
I am instantly infuriated. How dare you try to kick it with us, typical stoners, take a tiny ass hit and then claim that you're 'so high'? Nobody wants to hear your bullshit lies, we all know you're as sober as a recovered alcoholic. Stop trying to get attention. The smokey courage envolopes me and I instantly blow down on the kid.
\"Oh really? You're so high? You're so fucking high? Because I saw that pussy hit you just took off my blunt. You're not high, you just wish you were without having to smoke. Shut the fuck up, trick.\"
The kid just looks at me and apologizes. At least he knows who runs shit around here, instead of some of those stupid kids who don't know how we operate. I keep staring at him, not accepting his apology, until he finally announces he and his posse must leave. I'm relieved, because they only brought a bowl's worth of weed. After the kids leave, it's down to the usual crew: Me, Mark, and Abby.
\"Thank God those fucking losers left. I can't stand them.\" I say. \"I know,\" Abby starts, \"But they said they had weed, so I said they could come.\"
\"Hey dude,\" I say. \"It's your house and you can have whoever you want over. Lets just smoke the rest of this blunt.\" That's when Mark pipes up. \"Hell yeah!\" He re-lights the blunt, which is now already over half gone, and hands it to me. I hit it once, and then survey the blunt. It's stil big enough for someone to give me a gun, but also small enough for me to do a facemask. Instead of bothering Abby with a gun, I decide on the facemask. I put the blunt in my mouth, cherry first, and cup my hands around my nose and mouth. I blow on the blunt and smoke comes rushing out of the other end. My hands trap the smoke inside, just waiting for me to inhale. When I finally do, it's an automatic relief; I'm getting higher and I like it. I remove my hands from my face, the blunt from my mouth, and hit it one more time before finally passing it on to Abby. The blunt goes around our three person circle three more times before it's finally declared cashed.
Sadly, I put the roach out, knowing that we only have enough weed left for two bowls in Mark's peace pipe. We named his peace pipe Wareace, which stands for War and Peace. I lean back on the couch and touch my face, realizing that the feel of my skin is absolutely hilarious. I start laughing uncontrolably, which is nothing new.
\"Awww shit nigga,\" Abby says to me. She always calls me nigga, despite the fact that I'm just about the whitest person you can find. \"The geek is coming out!\"
I continue to laugh, wishing I could stop, but that is impossible at the moment. I used to always geek, but these days it only happens a handful of times. Smoking weed every single day has caused my body to build up a tolerance to the drug, so I don't get as high as I used to.
Abby looks over at Mark and they both nod. Then Abby turns on techno, which she knows will drive my geek crazier than it already is. I am immediately on my feet, flailing around the room like a crazy person, while I hear Mark and Abby cracking up in the background. The music is so happy, so vibrant that I have do dance; if I don't, I might die. As I am dancing, the song gets more intense. It starts to sound scarier, and I am immediately convinced that someone or something is coming to get me; I must get away. I start crying and praying to God that I will be saved. This seems to continue forever, and I feel as though I will never be safe again. I will never see my parents or my brothers again. Never go to work again. Never read a book, listen to another song, sleep in my bed, smoke another blunt, ever again. I am on my knees crying hysterically, begging God to let me live this one out, please please please just let me get through this. I know it was wrong of me to listen to this song, but I didn't know it was evil! I swear I didn't know until I had alreadly listened to it. Please help me God, please don't take me.
As my last plea is in, the song is turned off.
\"Damn nigga, you are geekin SO BAD!! Calm down.\" Abby says while laughing. \"Please turn on a different song.\" Is all I can manage.
\"Okay dude chill.\" Abby says. \"You know what? Since we have two bowls left, and Wareace is here, I say we bake Ed out.\" Ed is my car, and 'baking him out' entails putting all the windows up, closing all the doors, and smoking until the car is filled with smoke, getting you higher.

**Still writing this story! More to come soon.*


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