Peter Moran

Drug Trip

He wasn’t supposed to be here. And not in the good, wedding-crasher kind of not supposed to be here way, either. Like - the universe, capital U Universe, or god or God or even just Instinct had a very specific plan for him, and it most certainly did not include him being here. He knew that because his body was screaming at him. His body said “TURN AROUND!” but his legs wouldn’t listen. Okay, wait. Maybe it was his mind screaming that, then. His legs were part of his body. But anyways - not good. Legs unresponsive, aside from one of the most aggressive tremors he’d ever witnessed. It would’ve almost been fun to watch the way his knee was trembling, if it weren’t such dire circumstances. Like he had to give a speech in front of class with no pants on and he’d forgotten all his words and someone was live-streaming the event while the world mocked him and also someone had a gun to his head saying “say the speech exactly as we discussed or I’m going to cancel your existence,” type of tremble. But there was no time to appreciate the involuntary leaps his knee was taking. There was just: panic. “James,” the voice in his head said, “not good.”