“Once, there was a king. He was more powerful than any ordinary man. In his short reign, he’d built a kingdom that resembled a heaven on earth. He was kind and just but as his kingdom flourished, he became arrogant. He even challenged God himself. One day God, hearing of the King’s great triumphs, came to him in a dream. God, reaching down to lift the king off of the ground and into the palm of his hand said to him; If you can leave my hand, the hand that holds your world on place, I shall bow down to you, and all my power shall be your power. The king eagerly ran from one end to the other then boastfully leapt from his hand and flying at inhuman speeds traveled across the universe. He saw everything. He saw worlds unlike his own and watched more civilizations than he could count rise and fall, after reaching the end of the universe. The king saw five great pillars. He planted his nation’s flag at the base of the tallest pillar and, traveling backward through time and space, set out to find God. He eventually returned and told God of his travels. God said nothing for a moment then smiled and opened his hand, the king stood in silence, staring at the flag, his flag resting in God’ palm.”
I woke up from my nod and (vigorously) itched my nose for a bit before lighting a smoke. It wasn't too long before I heard a pounding (really more of light tapping but the mild hangover and opiated haze took small sounds to new levels) on my door.
"What?" I managed to bark out.
"C'mon in man,"
My baseline paranoia washed out in a flood of chemicals. Did I even lock my door? Shit... well anyway.
"You okay man?"
"Yeah, I'm good. I just had a fucked up dream."
"I don't really know. God, Nietzsche, eternal return, Chinese mythology or some shit," Rambling., trying to save face
"... but I think it was about Amy."
"It's cool. I'm used to it," I said, lying.
"You want some speed?"
"Fuck yeah," (no hesitation there).
I cut a line before reaching into my pocket for the last crumpled up 20 I'd managed to hold on to. My jeans were filthy; lived in reeking of cigarettes and covered in (what looked like) blood... or spaghettio sauce. Pretty sure that's what I was eating before I drifted off into Opi-Land but who knows. Lately, it had become harder and harder to keep track of the day to day stuff.
I handed Jake the bill and in a matter of seconds, tasted the battery acid drip in the back of my throat.
"I could use a chaser for that shit. You wana do a shot?"
Not being the type to pass up liquor I poured out the last dregs of my hallowed pint of Captain Morgan and took a healthy pull out of the unwashed cup I kept by my computer before passing the bottle to Jake.
"So, you said you dreamt about God?"
"Yeah, I think so," my mind now unshackled from the aftermath of an Oxy bender began flowing with ideas. Flying to arrange Platonian forms into concrete syntax.
"It was weird. Like I said fucked up but there was something calming about it. It was more than just me dreaming. Random images and sounds... There was another layer to it all and I can't explain it. That's the fucked up part. The only thing I can think of is that maybe she was there... She was that other presence. The lost part hiding somewhere in the shadows."
I scraped my desk for whatever traces of amphetamines remained and did a quick gummie before Jake responded.
"Yeah, I've been there. Three tabs will do it."
"I wish I had acid. Maybe that would help me make sense of it all."
"Eh, I've given up on that. Making sense of anything isn't a high priority. We're just... here. Ya know?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Mike's got more Oxy."
"Yeah, I heard... I don't know man. I need to lay off of that for a bit."
"You won't be saying that when you crash."
"Yeah," I chuckled.
Later that day, I found myself in White Mike's dorm strung out and in need of some pharma-nihilism. Maybe Jake was on to something after all.
"Can I get a front man."
"Shit, I would but... I can't. I'm gona be sick soon. My dude is dry I'm gonna have to catch a train back home to cold cop."
"I gotcha... Does it ever end?"
"This, all of this. The cycle sick, high, higher, sick again?"
"Not really, we're all born dope-sick it's just a matter of finding out. Everybody's got somethin."
"Interesting way of looking at it... Well, I've got some speed? You down for a trade."
Mike paused, mind spinning, eyes sizing me up, the room expanding into entropy until all I was faced were Mike's pinned eyes against a black-as-night backdrop... I really do need to lay off the drugs.
"Yeah, fuck. Why not? Maybe I can get something for it. I hate that shit though and there's no damn way I could tweak when I'm sick."
"I hear ya man."
"Alright, three percs."
"Yeah and there's a a football in there too. You're gonna need it."
After cranking out a short paper on Derrida, I popped my pills and dug through my old photographs. My near-nightly ritual.
"I wish you were here," I whispered heavily.
"The liquor store isn't cutting it anymore. I thought that maybe... I saw you. At the tail end of my dream. After whatever it was that was talking to me stopped. We were in the park and it was raining and you whispered something and then I woke up... I just thought I should tell you."
Later, I lied in bed thinking about how there has to be something more than this. How I feel that nagging thought pulsate out of my severely fucked liver after each mornings hangover. There has to be some way to leap out of God's palm and break the veil between what we think we know and what actually happens but those thoughts are left to better minds than mine. I clutched Amy's photo closed my eyes, whispered something inaudible and fell asleep. I didn't dream anything memorable that night. I didn't have it in me anymore.