If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-10-05 13:03:00 |
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Current music: | a place for my head - linkin park |
Who: Marijuana. And Dave. No, seriously. Okay, only kind of. Don't look at me like that.
What: Apologizing.
Where: Highway sub-basement under the stairs.
When: Tuesday afternoon.
Warnings: Language, drug use, insanity and/or metaphysical weirdness, very morbid imagery.
Marijuana leaned against the door frame, regarding the grave-stone with so many names written on it, regarding the tall, leafy, budding marijuana plant that would never really die, never stop giving off buds, both as a result of the nutrients taken from Dave's flesh and Marijuana's power running through every stalk, leaf, and stem. "You know, Davey-boy..." Marijuana murmured as he reached up behind his neck to unclasp the necklace he was wearing - silver and emerald weed leaf, silver claddagh and silver wedding ring, the first two belonging to Dave, the third belonging to Heroin - and held it loosely as he slid his own wedding ring off his left hand and added it to the constant reminder of what he'd lost. "-in some ways, this is a blessing." The leaves of the marijuana plant swayed slightly under the power of unseen wind; Marijuana translated the movement as How, bossman? as he started to shrug off his leather jacket.
"Well, now that he's left, I can finally be angry at him for killing you." Marijuana hadn't been angry before - mortals had free will, Dave had chosen to continue to use, Heroin hadn't shoved the needle into his arm - but, then again, he'd had Heroin with him constantly. It was a bit hard to see your husband's faults for what they really were when you were addicted to him, in substance, in body, in mind. "And I can finally admit to myself that it was my fault as well. Because I know it was. I wanted to keep him. I loved him. Fuck, Dave, I still love him." His leather jacket fell to the floor; Marijuana started to work his hoodie off with shaking fingers. "And I let that love get in the way of my duty to you, as your god. If it had been any other drug, I would have locked us in a room together and stayed with you through withdrawal. I would have burned every molecule out of your body and mind. I would have saved you, Dave. I could have saved you. But I didn't." Marijuana paused with his t-shirt halfway off. "And I know I don't have any right to ask for your forgiveness again, but..."
The plant rustled again, just barely, beckoning. Marijuana smiled lightly, bitterly, and threw his t-shirt onto the floor before shucking off his jeans and boxers. Kneeling, naked and bare, he reached up to the plant, gently plucking a single bud from the stalk and set out to roll a joint from the weed that had Dave laced through every trichrome and orange hair. Toking slowly, he felt Dave's presence mix with the power he'd taken from his mortal just before his death and, eventually, a quiet voice sounded in the back of his mind. Come down to me, bossman. I'll hold you. Marijuana sniffled lightly, finishing the joint gradually to strengthen that presence in the back of his mind before he shifted to stretch out on the dirt above Dave, letting the Organic pull him down until the dirt covered his body. Reaching out through the earth, his fingers brushed up against bone that still had a few chunks of rotting, fetid flesh clinging and decomposing. His eyes were closed, however, and he let that mix of presence and power infect his mind so deeply to the point where he wasn't touching bone, he was touching warm flesh. And he let himself see with his mind instead of his eyes and, eventually, a face formed behind his eyelids, smiling lightly at him and reaching out - oh, the Organic, always so willing to contribute to its plant's insanity and push the earth around until bone moved as well - to draw Marijuana in closely against his body.
Fingers of flesh brushed against Marijuana's cheek. "I love you, Marijuana. And I always will, I'll always be here for you. It's going to be okay. You'll heal. You'll smile again. You'll stop shaking eventually. And whenever it feels like it's too much for you, you can come down here, you can see me, and I'll hold you tightly." Bones creaked as arms tightened around him; Marijuana didn't hear it, he only heard the voice spreading out from his mind and into his ears. Eyes still closed, Marijuana smiled and didn't say anything. He just leaned in and caught Dave's lips for a slow, sweet, apologetic, loving kiss.
He could have just been kissing bone and the lingering remnants of flesh. It could have all been in his mind, the rustling of the pot plant, the voice in the back of his head, the warm body against him. Or there could have been something else going on, some lingering metaphysical presence mixed with power taken from Dave, mixed with the immortal pot plant. Or it could have been both; Dave's presence could still be lingering in the basement and in the back of Marijuana's mind whenever he smoked from that particular plant, but the warm body against his own was simply a construct of a broken mind.
Marijuana just kept kissing his dead lover. He didn't care how or why, he just knew that he needed the kiss to continue until he didn't hurt anymore.