If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-04-27 19:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | marijuana |
Who: Marijuana and Victor, a random stoner. (closed narrative; last one for a bit, I swear.)
Where: Victor's apartment.
When: Monday night.
Warnings: Death-by-Marijuana. Emotional leeching leading to mortal suicide. Pretty much, this is Marijuana at his worst.
Marijuana, the drug, didn't kill. Marijuana's violence was mental and yet as cruel as that of his brothers and sisters. He was an emotional leech, he pulled ambition and caring from mortals with ease and didn't see anything wrong with it. But what he had done to Harmony had leeched absolutely everything from his brother. Harmony was nothing, a shell, a doll and it had been Marijuana who made him that way. Worse even still was the sudden realization, as Marijuana hadn't allowed himself to think all that much about Trip, that he was never, ever, ever going to be able to kiss his brother deeply again. Never be able to draw gentle fingers through beautiful hair or rip violent nails through pale, trembling flesh. His brother would never cry out for him again, never beg for him again, never sob for him again and worst of all, would never smile up at him again happily afterward, after Marijuana had pillaged his body and mind only to gather him close to his chest and take care of him.
His relationship with LSD had been a series of breaking and fixing but Marijuana could not fix this. It was utterly impossible but Marijuana could fix himself. He could get rid of the black in his eyes, he could make himself feel... alive again. And, really, there was only one thing that made him feel completely alive. No, marijuana did not kill. No, his violence was mental, cruel and sucking. But he wanted to kill. He wanted to be as destructive as his harder siblings, whether out of some desire to prove himself as their equal or not.
It didn't happen often but soon after leaving LSD, a slow smile curled on Marijuana's lips as he pulled on a pair of tight gloves and chose a satisfactory Glock from his vault. Shoving it into his pocket, he practically flew out to the street and simply walked with his senses spread out around him like a net until he found the most pathetic stoner possible. Victor, a man of forty-two with two kids he never saw, a wife who left him because of his drug habit, an artistic talent gone to waste and a lifetime sentence of McDonald's employee. This wouldn't take very long at all and it only took a few minutes and some haze in the mortal's mind before Victor was treating Marijuana like a long-lost friend.
The mortal's apartment was dirty, unkempt and littered with half-finished art products and bongs, ashtrays, beer bottles and MJ settled in on the couch with his new friend. They began to toke, talking about everything and nothing, Marijuana gesturing with his hands and happening to brush over Victor's skin every few minutes.
Joints one through five? Gone was the rest of Victor's ambition, taken into Marijuana and turned into pure power.
Joints six through ten? Gone was the rest of his drive to create art.
Bong bowls one through ten? Gone was his will to love his family.
Hits of the pipe, one through fifteen? Caring about the outside world and the plight of others? Sucked deep into Marijuana's power stores.
With the last joint, Marijuana took Victor's will to love himself. With it, he also took the will to live.
The mortal was practically catatonic on the couch as Marijuana stood, giving Victor a bright smile and stretching out his arms casually. "Thanks for having me over, man, I really appreciate it." Victor just stared up at him blankly and Marijuana kept that bright smile on his face as he took the gun from his pocket and set it on the coffee table between them. "Have a good night, man." Marijuana lit a joint before turning his back.
He was at the door when the shot rang through the air, the splatter telling him that poor Victor's brains had just spread out over the living room.
With the shot, Marijuana smiled wide and felt more alive than he had in weeks.
His eyes changed from black to their normal blue as he walked out to his car, puffing on his joint and feeling at peace.
Finally.