Clare-Dragonfly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
clare_dragonfly) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2014-03-09 07:22 pm
clare_dragonfly) wrote in rainbowfic2014-03-09 07:22 pm
Really Bad Trip
Name: Clare
Story: Extranormal Crimes
Colors: Sulphur 20, The souls of men are demons
Supplies and Materials: Tapestry, feathers (image prompt)
Word Count: 1,783
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: drugs!
Notes: I do not know whether this is real or just drug-induced. But please attribute any inconsistencies between Maggie's experience and real mushroom trips to Maggie being magic. Also toysabetwordsmith's prompt at my journal, "mushroom spirits."
“I can see it all,” Maggie whispered. Her head felt hollow. The sound in her ears was a church bell, tolling once and going on and on, not fading away. “Everything. What are you?”
Her friends stared back at her. At least, she’d thought they were her friends. But inside them… Dela was a mass of ribbons, red and blue and white and yellow and orange and colors that never existed in nature, all of them weaving in and out and reaching toward Maggie. Joe was blackness, deepness, black with only a pair of crimson sparks for eyes, somewhere in his depths. Brandi was red and teeth, teeth, teeth.
She leapt to her feet with a cry. They were going to eat her. They were demons—
Dela’s ribbons grabbed Maggie around the arm. They were covered in sulfuric acid, eating into her skin. She screamed and managed to tear herself away, running toward the door.
“Bad trip,” came Joe’s voice, but it was coming from the window, not the black thing that had replaced him. “No! Don’t let her leave!”
She had to get away. The demons wanted to keep her here. She had to get away. The door wasn’t locked. She hauled it open, slammed it shut behind her, took off down the hall. People stuck their heads out of doors to see what was going on; they blurred as Maggie ran past them, but they were beautifully, blessedly human.
She looked over her shoulder to make sure the demons weren’t following her. They weren’t—but something was. Something misty and white and beautiful… but her hear still thudded in her chest in terror. She tore around the corner to the stairs (someone had blessedly left the door propped open) and took the stairs two at a time, rushing down to her own dorm room.
She looked behind her again. The white thing was still following her. Part of her wanted to stop, to commune with it, but the rest of her said that the demons were after her and she should run, run, run.
She went into her room. She locked the door and shut the blinds. She left the light off and searched, with trembling hands, for a candle. Lighting candles was against the dorm rules, of course, but she’d broken it before and she could break it now when it was most important.
She struck a match. It smelled strange. She lit the candle.
In the light of the candle the misty white thing came through her door.
The candle’s flame shook. Maggie set it down. She snatched up her athame. “Stay away from me,” she gasped, pointing the black-handled ritual knife at the creature, more a talisman than a weapon but effective as either. “I know how to fight you.”
The misty thing stopped. “I don’t want to fight you,” it said. Its voice was misty and rainbow-colored, pale and translucent. “I want to help you.”
“I don’t need help,” Maggie said. Water. She needed water. There were bottles of the stuff in her desk; she couldn’t reach them now. But she was desperately thirsty. She held her anthem out. “Leave me alone.”
“But you ran away from the things in the other room,” said the misty thing. It sounded surprised, but it had no face that Maggie could recognize. “I thought you were a good one.”
Maggie’s athame wavered. “I thought you were one of them.”
“Me?” The misty thing made a sound like distant thunder. It might have been a laugh. “No, no. We’ve been fighting against those things for years. Centuries. Eons.”
Maggie swallowed. She couldn’t get enough spit to be comfortable talking. “What are you?”
“Here. Let me help you.” The misty thing moved toward Maggie’s desk. Without the thing appearing to touch it, her drawer opened and a bottle of water flew through the air. Maggie caught it with one hand without losing her grip on her athame. She looked at it.
“It’s safe,” the misty thing assured her. “But don’t drink too much or you won’t be able to see me anymore.”
Maggie took the cap off the bottle one-handed and drank a swallow. Her phone rang. “I can only see you because I’m high,” she said. “That’s it. It wasn’t magic. It was just the mushrooms.”
“Of course it’s the mushrooms,” said the misty thing. Its voice didn’t seem loud enough to cut through the jangle of the phone, but it carried clearly to Maggie’s ears anyway. “What do you think I am?”
Maggie took another swallow of water. The phone stopped ringing. “I just asked that. You didn’t tell me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m a mushroom spirit.”
Maggie’s cell phone started buzzing, turning itself slowly on the desk. Maggie looked at it. The caller ID said “Dela.”
She looked at the misty thing. “What?”
“A mushroom spirit,” it repeated obligingly.
“Why do mushrooms have spirits?”
“Why do humans have spirits?” it responded. The cell phone stopped buzzing. “Why foxes? Why crows? We just are. You’re the one taking a philosophy class.”
“I dropped it,” said Maggie. “Wait. How do you know that?” She drank water. The mist seemed to be dissipating.
“I can see your class schedule,” said the spirit. “In your drawer. Be careful with the water.”
Maggie shook her head and gulped more water. The mist was very faint now. But its voice came through just as clearly. “We’re fighting against the things,” it said. “I followed you because I thought you would help.”
“Why fight them?” Maggie’s head was clearer now. She was probably still suffering the effects of the mushroom she’d taken, but at least she understood well enough that the horrible things she thought she’d seen were her friends, and she probably didn’t want to hurt them.
“They hurt,” said the spirit. “They kill. They destroy. Keep away from ones like them if you can’t fight. I see that you are a good one. You want the world to be right.” Someone started pounding on Maggie’s door. “You have a just heart,” said the spirit. “I can see it in you.”
“But that wasn’t real,” said Maggie.
“It was real,” said the spirit. “That’s what we do. To people who can see, we show them.”
“Maggie, are you in there?” someone shouted through the door. “Let me in!”
After a moment’s reflection, Maggie realized that the voice did not belong to Dela or Joe or Brandi. She set down her water bottle and walked to the door. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Tay,” said the voice. “Are you okay?”
Maggie unlocked the door and peeked out. It really was Tay, and she was alone. Maggie stepped aside to let her in and then locked the door behind them again.
“Dela called me,” said Tay. “She said you had a bad trip and you were freaking out. She was afraid you would run into the woods or something. You don’t seem that bad.”
Maggie shook her head. “I just had to… I thought I had to protect myself.”
Tay frowned. She took the athame out of Maggie’s hand and set it down on the desk. Then she took the water bottle and gave it to Maggie. “Drink the rest of that.”
“I…” Maggie looked for the spirit. It was barely a wisp of mist hovering in her room.
“Tell her, too,” said the spirit. “She’s good. She needs to help fight.”
Maggie looked at Tay. “Did you hear that?”
Tay gave her a sad smile. “No, hon. Drink the water.”
Maggie drank. Before she finished the bottle, though, she asked, “Did Dela sound all right? When she called you?”
“Well, no. She was worried about you. But she also sounded sort of… hoarse, or something. You think she has a cold?”
The ribbons coming from her throat. Had they been coming from her throat? Or had they just been a part of her? Maggie was no longer certain. She drank the rest of the water.
She could no longer see the mist. She couldn’t see anything that wasn’t normal. She couldn’t hear the spirit, either. Maybe it had gone.
“You want to go back to Dela’s room?” Tay asked.
Maggie shook her head. Then she wondered why not. Was she really going to take seriously the words and sights of a mushroom trip? Dela was worried about her, even to the extent of calling Tay to make sure she was okay…
“Thanks for coming by,” Maggie said.
“Sure,” said Tay. She pulled a deck of cards out of her back pocket. “Want to play poker or something? I don’t know what you need, but if you’re having a bad trip, I figure I should stick with you…”
“That sounds great,” said Maggie. She turned to her desk and went for the big drawer where she kept the bottles of water. It was closed now. Had she closed it? Or had the spirit done it? Had it ever opened in the first place?
She did have an empty bottle of water. She must have taken one out. She took out two more, handed one to Tay, and sat down on the floor. “I’m feeling a lot better now, but I could still use some company, I think. Just to get things back to normal.”
Tay sat across from her and began to shuffle the cards. “Well, that’s what I’m here now. Probably why Dela called me instead of somebody else.”
“You’re a good friend.” Maggie was no longer sure whether the mushroom spirit had been real—or any of it. It probably was just a bad trip. But then why had she come down so quickly? And why had the spirit said Dela and the others were not good, but she and Tay were good? And how could she be sure? If she concentrated the right way, looking at Tay shuffling the cards, she could see things that weren’t there—a faint greenish halo, mainly, but she could also smell Tay with a sense that no one else she knew of had. Tay didn’t literally, physically smell like wintergreen and damp wool, and if Maggie concentrated in a different way, she could smell the actual Tay-smell of skin and cheap soap and lemongrass shampoo. But all of it was really there.
“You know what?” Maggie said. “Let’s not play poker. Let’s go for Go Fish or something.”
“I used to play Go Fish with my parents and brother when I was a kid,” said Tay, smiling. “I like it.” She began to deal the cards.
Maggie gulped more water. There was one thing she knew for certain: she was never going to take mushrooms again.
Story: Extranormal Crimes
Colors: Sulphur 20, The souls of men are demons
Supplies and Materials: Tapestry, feathers (image prompt)
Word Count: 1,783
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: drugs!
Notes: I do not know whether this is real or just drug-induced. But please attribute any inconsistencies between Maggie's experience and real mushroom trips to Maggie being magic. Also to
ysabetwordsmith's prompt at my journal, "mushroom spirits."“I can see it all,” Maggie whispered. Her head felt hollow. The sound in her ears was a church bell, tolling once and going on and on, not fading away. “Everything. What are you?”
Her friends stared back at her. At least, she’d thought they were her friends. But inside them… Dela was a mass of ribbons, red and blue and white and yellow and orange and colors that never existed in nature, all of them weaving in and out and reaching toward Maggie. Joe was blackness, deepness, black with only a pair of crimson sparks for eyes, somewhere in his depths. Brandi was red and teeth, teeth, teeth.
She leapt to her feet with a cry. They were going to eat her. They were demons—
Dela’s ribbons grabbed Maggie around the arm. They were covered in sulfuric acid, eating into her skin. She screamed and managed to tear herself away, running toward the door.
“Bad trip,” came Joe’s voice, but it was coming from the window, not the black thing that had replaced him. “No! Don’t let her leave!”
She had to get away. The demons wanted to keep her here. She had to get away. The door wasn’t locked. She hauled it open, slammed it shut behind her, took off down the hall. People stuck their heads out of doors to see what was going on; they blurred as Maggie ran past them, but they were beautifully, blessedly human.
She looked over her shoulder to make sure the demons weren’t following her. They weren’t—but something was. Something misty and white and beautiful… but her hear still thudded in her chest in terror. She tore around the corner to the stairs (someone had blessedly left the door propped open) and took the stairs two at a time, rushing down to her own dorm room.
She looked behind her again. The white thing was still following her. Part of her wanted to stop, to commune with it, but the rest of her said that the demons were after her and she should run, run, run.
She went into her room. She locked the door and shut the blinds. She left the light off and searched, with trembling hands, for a candle. Lighting candles was against the dorm rules, of course, but she’d broken it before and she could break it now when it was most important.
She struck a match. It smelled strange. She lit the candle.
In the light of the candle the misty white thing came through her door.
The candle’s flame shook. Maggie set it down. She snatched up her athame. “Stay away from me,” she gasped, pointing the black-handled ritual knife at the creature, more a talisman than a weapon but effective as either. “I know how to fight you.”
The misty thing stopped. “I don’t want to fight you,” it said. Its voice was misty and rainbow-colored, pale and translucent. “I want to help you.”
“I don’t need help,” Maggie said. Water. She needed water. There were bottles of the stuff in her desk; she couldn’t reach them now. But she was desperately thirsty. She held her anthem out. “Leave me alone.”
“But you ran away from the things in the other room,” said the misty thing. It sounded surprised, but it had no face that Maggie could recognize. “I thought you were a good one.”
Maggie’s athame wavered. “I thought you were one of them.”
“Me?” The misty thing made a sound like distant thunder. It might have been a laugh. “No, no. We’ve been fighting against those things for years. Centuries. Eons.”
Maggie swallowed. She couldn’t get enough spit to be comfortable talking. “What are you?”
“Here. Let me help you.” The misty thing moved toward Maggie’s desk. Without the thing appearing to touch it, her drawer opened and a bottle of water flew through the air. Maggie caught it with one hand without losing her grip on her athame. She looked at it.
“It’s safe,” the misty thing assured her. “But don’t drink too much or you won’t be able to see me anymore.”
Maggie took the cap off the bottle one-handed and drank a swallow. Her phone rang. “I can only see you because I’m high,” she said. “That’s it. It wasn’t magic. It was just the mushrooms.”
“Of course it’s the mushrooms,” said the misty thing. Its voice didn’t seem loud enough to cut through the jangle of the phone, but it carried clearly to Maggie’s ears anyway. “What do you think I am?”
Maggie took another swallow of water. The phone stopped ringing. “I just asked that. You didn’t tell me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m a mushroom spirit.”
Maggie’s cell phone started buzzing, turning itself slowly on the desk. Maggie looked at it. The caller ID said “Dela.”
She looked at the misty thing. “What?”
“A mushroom spirit,” it repeated obligingly.
“Why do mushrooms have spirits?”
“Why do humans have spirits?” it responded. The cell phone stopped buzzing. “Why foxes? Why crows? We just are. You’re the one taking a philosophy class.”
“I dropped it,” said Maggie. “Wait. How do you know that?” She drank water. The mist seemed to be dissipating.
“I can see your class schedule,” said the spirit. “In your drawer. Be careful with the water.”
Maggie shook her head and gulped more water. The mist was very faint now. But its voice came through just as clearly. “We’re fighting against the things,” it said. “I followed you because I thought you would help.”
“Why fight them?” Maggie’s head was clearer now. She was probably still suffering the effects of the mushroom she’d taken, but at least she understood well enough that the horrible things she thought she’d seen were her friends, and she probably didn’t want to hurt them.
“They hurt,” said the spirit. “They kill. They destroy. Keep away from ones like them if you can’t fight. I see that you are a good one. You want the world to be right.” Someone started pounding on Maggie’s door. “You have a just heart,” said the spirit. “I can see it in you.”
“But that wasn’t real,” said Maggie.
“It was real,” said the spirit. “That’s what we do. To people who can see, we show them.”
“Maggie, are you in there?” someone shouted through the door. “Let me in!”
After a moment’s reflection, Maggie realized that the voice did not belong to Dela or Joe or Brandi. She set down her water bottle and walked to the door. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Tay,” said the voice. “Are you okay?”
Maggie unlocked the door and peeked out. It really was Tay, and she was alone. Maggie stepped aside to let her in and then locked the door behind them again.
“Dela called me,” said Tay. “She said you had a bad trip and you were freaking out. She was afraid you would run into the woods or something. You don’t seem that bad.”
Maggie shook her head. “I just had to… I thought I had to protect myself.”
Tay frowned. She took the athame out of Maggie’s hand and set it down on the desk. Then she took the water bottle and gave it to Maggie. “Drink the rest of that.”
“I…” Maggie looked for the spirit. It was barely a wisp of mist hovering in her room.
“Tell her, too,” said the spirit. “She’s good. She needs to help fight.”
Maggie looked at Tay. “Did you hear that?”
Tay gave her a sad smile. “No, hon. Drink the water.”
Maggie drank. Before she finished the bottle, though, she asked, “Did Dela sound all right? When she called you?”
“Well, no. She was worried about you. But she also sounded sort of… hoarse, or something. You think she has a cold?”
The ribbons coming from her throat. Had they been coming from her throat? Or had they just been a part of her? Maggie was no longer certain. She drank the rest of the water.
She could no longer see the mist. She couldn’t see anything that wasn’t normal. She couldn’t hear the spirit, either. Maybe it had gone.
“You want to go back to Dela’s room?” Tay asked.
Maggie shook her head. Then she wondered why not. Was she really going to take seriously the words and sights of a mushroom trip? Dela was worried about her, even to the extent of calling Tay to make sure she was okay…
“Thanks for coming by,” Maggie said.
“Sure,” said Tay. She pulled a deck of cards out of her back pocket. “Want to play poker or something? I don’t know what you need, but if you’re having a bad trip, I figure I should stick with you…”
“That sounds great,” said Maggie. She turned to her desk and went for the big drawer where she kept the bottles of water. It was closed now. Had she closed it? Or had the spirit done it? Had it ever opened in the first place?
She did have an empty bottle of water. She must have taken one out. She took out two more, handed one to Tay, and sat down on the floor. “I’m feeling a lot better now, but I could still use some company, I think. Just to get things back to normal.”
Tay sat across from her and began to shuffle the cards. “Well, that’s what I’m here now. Probably why Dela called me instead of somebody else.”
“You’re a good friend.” Maggie was no longer sure whether the mushroom spirit had been real—or any of it. It probably was just a bad trip. But then why had she come down so quickly? And why had the spirit said Dela and the others were not good, but she and Tay were good? And how could she be sure? If she concentrated the right way, looking at Tay shuffling the cards, she could see things that weren’t there—a faint greenish halo, mainly, but she could also smell Tay with a sense that no one else she knew of had. Tay didn’t literally, physically smell like wintergreen and damp wool, and if Maggie concentrated in a different way, she could smell the actual Tay-smell of skin and cheap soap and lemongrass shampoo. But all of it was really there.
“You know what?” Maggie said. “Let’s not play poker. Let’s go for Go Fish or something.”
“I used to play Go Fish with my parents and brother when I was a kid,” said Tay, smiling. “I like it.” She began to deal the cards.
Maggie gulped more water. There was one thing she knew for certain: she was never going to take mushrooms again.