Trip

Waking up the next morning always sucks. And today or rather this morning particularly sucked.

It all started when I went to Dions' stupid party and decided to adventure out of my comfort zone. But look at me now. In some drainage pipe like a crackhead who's hiding the last bit of his stash.

When I woke up that morning my mind was hazy and I was covered in dew. Make that more than dew. I was laying half submerged in the pipes runoff for god sakes.

However, deciding it was high past time for me to make my way home I got my lazy ass into gear and moved to stand on twigs I called legs. Bad idea. A wave of some type of nausea washed over me with the veracity of a category five hurricane. Forced me to recline and take it slow. When it left I could feel a sharp pain in my neck and a dull throb in my forehead. Hurt a son of a bitch more than any hangover is had before. Not to mention I felt like I had been beaten up and dragged across a bunch of stones. Dion was shit listed when I got home.

Leaning back against the pipe walls I stretched my legs out and waited for the symptoms to subside. Not like I had much in a drain pipe to fix anything. Though I had never heard of post-stone headaches.

So shrugging off the chain of thought really started to relax, dragging my fingertips lazily across the waters' surface. The pipe itself was pretty big but the real question was how I ended up here.

That's how I got to be just sitting in that drain I trying to focus real hard on remembering what happened, but of course something bumped up against me breaking my concentration.

It was big and fleshy, probably some bloated dead dog. The thought sent a shiver up my spine and I had to make a conscious effort to keep whatever I ate last night inside my stomach. Shoving it back I made sure to turn my head away trying to think again, but unfortunately for me the river of water just brought it back.

Now I was getting pissed. Annoyed I rolled onto my knees and turned whatever it was over. And that made me lurch back.

No.

I couldn't have.

It wasn't possible.

I was just stoned, there's no way.

I didn't even have a gun. Right?

Reaching foreword as I crawled back to the dead body in the pipe I stroked the mans' cheek. I couldn't believe it. He was bruised and bloated but he looked oddly peaceful. His eyes closed and a pleasant look on his face. Flesh still intact he seemed swollen and his features were almost indiscernible. And that's when I noticed the bullet hole. It was almost completely covered by the thick gelatinous like flesh but I could still see it. Fingering the edges of the bullet hole in his forehead I realized it wasn't my imagination or some lingering stoner trip. It was real alright.

It was really me.