Sleeping with the Wanton Sisters

Clink. Roll. Snort. Exhale. Wonderland.

My name is H and I am the king of this place – whatever this place is, I do not know. My head feels very warm and it seems as if there are things crawling inside my stomach. The sensation would disturb me if it occurred under any normal circumstance, but at present it makes me feel like a human aquarium. The dazzling whiteness of the room is overwhelming to the extent that I can feel warm tears rolling down my cheek. Everything has grown a dimension to offer an introspective view of it. My head is very warm and so are my lips, I need water. My heart is going crazy, if it went a little faster it would burst and I would die laughing. I have to get up and have water; my lips are burning. Where are the keys? I must have left them in the car. No, no wait, got it. Thank God. I haven’t felt this happy in years.

Light. Inhale.

I can feel the smoke travel to my lungs, settle there after forming a soft, creamy cloud that is bouncing off my lungs’ walls. It is moving very slowly, I swear I can feel it.

Exhale. This is the best smoke I’ve ever had. I must drink water now.

Pour. Gulp. My tongue feels feathery, very light, extremely cool.

H was standing against the fridge and smiling for some insane reason. He wasn’t leaning but he wasn’t even standing upright. He had a glass in his right hand and he was looking at it intently. The left hand held a cigarette. He turned back and gave me the biggest smile he could manage.

“I love the way water feels on the tongue.” He said between drags.

“I’m sure it does.” I replied, assenting.

“Can we go outside for a walk?” Now he was bent and rummaging through the fridge.

“I think we better stay inside.” I started to turn.

“Can I have some more?” he wasn’t looking at me.

“Can you handle it.”

“I’ve handled women, and this is only cocaine my friend.” He turned to look at me; he was sweating profusely.

I smiled and gestured him to follow.

Hi my name is Q and I’m supplying H with the Candy. I’m not a bad guy like they show in the movies, I’m only doing him a little favor by giving him what he wants: the power to control his mood and not depend on nature for it. It’s for free now but in a few days when the cravings set in and bring with them an entire melange of pestilent symptoms with them, he will be willing to pay for the Coke to do away with irritability, apathy, depression, paranoia, suicidal ideation and excessive sleep. And I will be doing away with a lot of repressed consumerism.

H snorted some more and then lay on the couch with his head tilted backwards. I could see him partly from where I stood. He was sweating and shaking his feet violently. His hand hanged from the edge of the couch with an unlit cigarette dangling from the fingers.

Now it’s time I indulged my inclination. I shall pour some out right here on my thumb nail and:

Bump. Sting. Tick. Oh s***!

My name is Q and I’m the king of this place. And ladies and gentlemen I am gonna be awake for the rest of my lovely life. My brain is on fire and my eyes are burning like crazy, I think my nose is bleeding – is it now? Nothing on the fingers. Unhhh, my throat hurts. But is that a problem people? I say NO; nothing is a problem now – I feel like taking a walk to Tokyo and be back until morning, for breakfast. Did I say breakfast? I am not gonna touch food for the rest of my living days. Need a smoke, need a smoke, need a freaking cigarette.

Light. Inhale. Bliss.

Q was walking all over the place; picking different objects and putting them right back. He kneeled and looked under the rug, wiped the sweat from his forehead, got up and went into the kitchen. He had a plastic smile on his face, very synthetic; it was as if the smile was stuck to his face and he couldn’t get it off.

“Hey Q, you alright?” I asked raising my voice a little, trying to sound as normal as my Coke infested brain would allow.

“Yeah man, yeah, yeah – I’m totally alright. Do you need some more?” He asked me while chewing on his thumb; his voice was muffled but audible.

“No, I’m alright. It’s beautiful. It’s great.” I tried to induce as much coherence as I could into my sentence.

I need to stand up right now, my neck hurts. I need to think more clearly. I need to get home. I feel like crying. I need to get out and go home man. Somebody please get me home.

Hi, my name is H and I think I’ve done a little more Coke than I should have. And this is not the Wonderland I came to.

Now H was getting all messed up, he was going around in circles. And can somebody please tell me why is this world so damn slow. I can’t breath here; the languorous pace of things is driving me insane. I need to get out and feel the air in my lungs. I also need a smoke. Hey you know what, I think I have written the best damn screenplay ever and it doesn’t deserve to be kept away from everyone. Tomorrow morning I will personally take it down to the post office and mail it. I’ll be a screenwriter man, can you even believe that!

H looks like crap.

“Hey H, buddy, you alright.”

“No, I can’t breathe ok. And I’m seeing these… these things – they’re freaking me out.” He wiped sweat off his brow and lit a cigarette; “ I need to get out of here Q.”

I simply looked at him and wondered what I looked like. I didn’t feel like talking to H at that moment but I did. I thought he was going to die on me right there and then I would have to call someone who would find out about my speed habit and then the police would put me in jail for possession of f***ing benzoylmethyl ecognine and methamphetamie HCl (hello I’m with a drug) and then I would never be able to make it big or see my family or go to that s***ty job. I will run away. But first let me take care of H.

“Just relax, alright. Sit down and breathe – and put that cigarette out.”

“Yeah, ok.” Thank God H was coherent.


I saw Q taking big strides towards me and for a second I thought he was going to run me down, and then he stopped right in my face. His left eye kept twitching and his tongue was between his lips whenever he wasn’t talking.

I heard myself saying something like: “You look like a 747 crashed into you.”

You don’t look like John C. Holmes either.” He sounded serious and hostile.

“I want to get out of here.”

“We will, but only when these people let go of me.” He looked around.

“What people?” I asked raising my head a little and looking above his shoulder.

The same who never ever let go. Never.” He moved forward and settled in the couch. I vomited right there on the rug.

H threw up on the rug and that wasn’t the bad part – the bad part was that it all happened in slow motion and yet our lives raced to their ends while the TV reported Israel’s bombing of a civilian area in Syria. The bastards.