drugs are bad, fruits basket belongs to it's rightful owners, and weed belongs to anyone who buys it.
--
I Feel Like Flying
With the burn in his throat long since forgotten, and the smoke slowly beginning to clear his vision, the orange haired teen took another long drag from the small joint in between his thumb and pointer finger. Small puffs of smoke escaped from his nostrils, and he swallowed, the burning sensation now dull compared to the ten or twenty before it. Regardless, he choked, because the bile in his stomach was bubbling uncomfortably.
Haru, sitting somewhere to his far left, broke into a fit of laughter, only stopping moments later to comment on how "fucking rad" it would be if they had some chicken rice burritos at that very moment. Burritos didn't sound good to Kyo. Actually, he felt like getting a double cheese burger and a small diet coke. Sure, fast food sounded good, but he was positive that if he left the safety of Haru's basement, the ox's parents would catch them, call Akito, and he'd be headed straight to the cage. For good. No, he had to stay in the younger boy's basement because.. if there even was a world outside said basement, it surely wouldn't be good if he left.
"My hands feel sticky. I need to wash them."
The black and white haired teen whispered, but didn't stand.
"Dude, Kyo, if I put my hands together, they won't ever come apart."
He gasped, bringing his hands together in a clapping motion, then staring amazed at his fingers.
God, Kyo could really go for a peperoni pizza about now.
He took another drag, sucking in and telling himself, when his high wore off, he would invent a machine you could carry in your pocket that made tiny peperoni pizzas. For now though, he would sit in his boyfriend's basement, taking drags until the weed ran out and his high wore off. Then, maybe he would go upstairs, play video games, and have hot dirty sex on the living room floor.
His mother would be so proud.
fin.
--
for Vikertee, because anyone who can actually enjoy my old, old, old fiction 'The Light Of The Shadows' deserves a round of applause. (and apparently a drabble about pot.. ehh, SORRY!)
It's strange.. but I'm not sure I ever write anything of particular interest. It's always just about books, letters, or drugs.