What maybe started as a way to relax and kill time of his not-so-busy schedule took over as a habit. The more he had it, the more room he started giving it and hence more time he had for it. Maybe he always wished for it. And now that he got it, he hated it more than anything, a never ending state of highness, a permanent altered state of consciousness. He could feel his soul standing two inches above him, his hands below his soul's, his head right below his soul's, his soul's kneecaps over his thighs and the soul's heart beating in the air just near his mouth which made his lips make subtle movements in synchronization with the soul's heart sometimes. Ants crawling all over his skin, the sensation of touch came a bit late, the dark became too dark and bright became too bright and the too bright and the too dark fainted him. The voices all echoed, kept on echoing till it reached the brain and the brain could make a sense outta it. Even two puffs of a cigarette got him to reach his maximal. He could find the dizziness in the air. Every time he inhaled, he got higher. His perceptions became so intense that sometimes his heart started to pound and the body sweat without any reason at times. He was beginning to memorize the in-depth details of some events from far in the past that he had never even remembered faintly. Like that t-shirt he used to wear when he was five years old, it had a face of a joker over it which resembled the Joker from The Batman Trilogy, which was created years after the t-shirt was created and yet he thought if the screenplay was written much before or if the artist who created that paint over that t-shirt could see the future because even the mouth of that Joker looked sliced at both the ends as far as he could remember. And it was, he thought, possibly impossible for two different artists to add a detail like that to something. He also thought if it were all just the superimposition of the two independent events that his drug-addicted fucked up brain had created and that the face on the t-shirt was something else or it was just maybe a co-incidence as the naive would say.
He wanted his sobriety back but there was no way he was gonna get it back easily. He tried to sleep hoping that one day when he would wake up and it would all vanish as a bad dream. But he knew it wasn't a dream. No matter how much he slept, he was always tired. He felt his soul working out all the fucking time. Making Synchronized movements to please his body and his mind as it always did. But now it irritated him and he didn't know what to do. This wasn't supernatural, he thought otherwise he would have felt something taking over him which sometimes he felt but still he wouldn't admit it, not because he didn't believe in the occult but because he could not digest the fact that something was taking over him. He convinced himself that he felt something leaving his body, not taking over it . He knew It wasn't natural either. Anyway he couldn't go for a check-up, he thought because that would unveil his drug history. And also he wouldn't be able to explain what exactly was happening to him so maybe he would be mistaken for growing insane or maybe he actually was. So he just waited and kept waiting for it to go.
This was the third time it happened. It happened every month since December. In December it stayed for five days, in January for six days but now, in February it exhausted him on the third day itself. For an egotist like him, something taking over control of things he possessed without his will was his worst nightmare. He had always loved challenges and he had hated loosing them. He wasn't loosing this time either but this time the struggle was bad because it was a rebellion from what he had thought was his slave. Something he could use and throw away as and when he wanted to, just like the women in his life, for none lasted for even a few months, neither he wanted them to. He tried and gave up anything and everything to get to them and get them but after he got them he traded them back for anything trivial. And he never regretted. It was a struggle for him now because it was his first regret. He was starting to regret the importance he gave to this state which wouldn't go now. He was willing to give it all up now. The women were better, he said to himself. And the voices echoed till it reached for his brain to interpret and say that again and a vicious circle continued till he got exhausted and slept or maybe fainted.
