Upon waking eyes

This morning I awoke to capture the dawn in all its glory as it emanated from
a dark horizon to lighten my window ledge. Another week indeed would come
to its fruition as we were once again on the heels of Friday. Mom was attending
to her daily routine, oblivious to the mellow chirping of birds, which had now
begun to infiltrate our ears. The gentle sound carried over rooftops to filter in
through windows left half opened. A warm breeze wafted in on wings of lilting
song, letting us know that it was going to be a hot one. Mother soon climbs back
into the comfort of her awaiting bed for she arose solely to relieve herself.
Until that alarm clock went off however, nothing else mattered.

Ramon who is my stepfather was now long gone for he departed in the wee hours
of the morning. When the sky was still dark and the stridulating sound of crickets
permeated through the small forest of trees. I was reassured in knowing that he was
very far away and wondered what it was that he was up to at this moment. If I had
to theorize, I would probably say that he has finished some small task and is in the
process of pouring a cup of El Pico as I speak. In that aphotic room under the building's
dry well. The one with enormous windows lined with chicken wire from another age,
one can hear now the sound of a stainless steel coffee pot percolating.



Without hesitation, I carefully removed an ornate water pipe from its secret hiding
place and in a clandestine manner set it down. Mother was still sleeping, so I strolled
downstairs through a somber living room and into the kitchen where I quietly filled an
eight ounce green glass coke bottle to its rim. The buzzing sound of an old fluorescent
light above my head and its inane flickering threw up red flags, for in the hazy mist of
all that was calm there was now an imperative lurking danger. Not wanting to step up
on a chair, I examined the slender white tubes at a respectable distance to find they
were both darkened at each end. Just then a tingling feeling crawled up my spine,
alerting me to the fact that someone had broken into the house and was hiding in the
basement. I thought I heard something and realized I had to move fast! Don't know
why, but I've always had a dreaded fear of dark isolated places.

Fear of something popping out not human, I guess.



                                                                               Pg 1
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As I pondered the estate of the day, I couldn't help feeling a bit confused
or even worried about what awaited me on the other side of that closed door.
Would I even be alive tomorrow, and if I was, what about the following week?



*I was disenchanted by life's redundancies and so I chose a way out*

Opening the freezer door, I pulled apart a metal ice cube tray scattering insignificant
shards of ice along the laminated countertop and floor. Some clinging to my sock as
do hitchhikers when walking through dense portions of the woods. Tempted to throw
it in the garbage I salvaged as many relevant pieces as I possibly could have and put
them in a cup before returning the useless item back to its original position in the freezer.
Why won't they just buy new ice trays? The very thought of this must have been inconceivable.
For some of us, it's easier not to do anything, but continue going through all the motions
we've grown accustomed to.

Slowly, I fell into a dream. . .

Snow was blowing on a lake of glass where ice sculptures posed as elaborate entrance
columns to a new and inviting world. A world where lofty igloos settle in the arctic tundra
and the magnificent causeways branching out like frozen fingers were a thoroughfare for the
Inuits who had no other means of passage. The northern lights shimmering in the horizon
which illuminated the sky also shone down upon the alabaster ground like a rainbow of
colors that had entwined themselves in their own illusion. What a wonderful thought!



Somewhere out in the elliptical mesosphere of the mind
a door that had been locked for so many years was gradually
beginning to open, and I could never have imagined the outcome.

Back in the land of white there were boats pulling glaciers around on an
ocean of frozen pain. It is too cold to breathe when a penguin comes out
of the icy channel and turns to stone. Maybe we could put a heated pool
in the living room. . . Oh for God's sake the freezer door is still open!!!

I closed the door and moved apprehensively across the floor directly above
a source of unknown power lying dormant in the basement. With a nocturnal
malevolence only the light could beset, they would wait ever so patiently
to manifest themselves again upon my return. It was merely the darkness
I knew before letting me know that one day I would be going back to it.

Only next time, I would be the one with peering eyes
in an inconspicuous location. *A cold draft.*

Once in a while I turn to find that I, myself am alone in the eventide.
When those emasculating shadows hiding behind the stairs begin to
move until they're in every coat closet. Sometimes there is nothing
more chilling nor dangerous than one's own overactive imagination!

I hit the light switch and trolled through the living room, heart pounding.
I could hardly wait for that first morning toke of fine herbal essence!
As I made my ascension up the grueling staircase my senses went awry,
and I began to feel most uneasy. Every step I took was filled with more
anxiety than the next, and I just couldn't get up there fast enough! In a way it
felt as though something was behind me. Something dark and dreadful that just
wanted to leap out and see me cringe! Man, I thought as I closed the frail hollow
door to my bedroom, I must have more THC in my system than a marijuana plant!

                                                                               Pg 2
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I emptied the contents of the cup into the glass bong and poured the water in as well.
I then placed the coke bottle down upon my dresser where together they stood at
attention like obedient soldiers. From out of nowhere I heard a large bang outside along
with the sound of a hollow metal object rolling. Immediately, I darted over to the window!
Old man Tannenbaum had knocked over one of his garbage cans and was fishing for the
steel handle. I had my hand on my head as I anticipated him falling on it. Then not only
would my mother be woken up early, but I would have to go downstairs and help him to
his quivering feet! I would probably have to walk out to the curb and bring the can in for
him as well. Lest I think about it for the rest of my natural life and end up growing weary.

I though about how much money the government could make by marketing the marijuana
plant, but then realized that if it were legal, everyone in the United States would be able
to buy and sell as well. If everyone was buying and selling, the government would be
losing out on revenue because no one would declare it. The government will only legalize
what it can strong arm! You can't even sell your own body if you want to! Think about it!

If someone found a way to chemically synthesize a drug compound from an ordinary flower,
you can bet your whole paycheck that men in suits would soon arrive to dispose of them!



Trying to find a sheet of Bambu was futile for there was only the empty housing of the
fine cardboard packaging, so I grappled with a sheet of e-z wider double width instead.
It was almost impossible now to remove the paper from its sleeve for I had been running
around yesterday with the pack in my pocket. High humidity and perspiration are two
natural enemies of the rolling paper and the only thing I could think of was whether or not
the glue was going to hold. Finally, I had something which resembled a piece of rolling paper.
Seeing that it was too big for what I wanted, I creased a half inch line and ran a lick with the tip
of my tongue. I then pulled like you would pull apart a set of chopsticks and voila, I now had
the perfect sized paper! After the clipping and discarding of the stems, the removal of the seeds,
the breaking of the buds, I rolled a wonderfully smelling, exquisitely looking marijuana cigarette
that mildly resembled a makeshift Pall Mall. With a pleasant demeanor, I dropped it in a sock,
rolled it up and hid it in my dresser drawer. Next to the window I sat. In case of an abrupt
knock on the door, I would have enough time to adjust the situation.

This jet black herb with purple hairs was new to our scene and eventually grew to be
well acclaimed for its potency. Some claimed that it was twice as good as Buddha
therefor, I coveted it like gold. Even though in all my observations and documented
writings, I had yet to try it. That was until now, the very moment of my awakening!



There were no dime bags to be had by anyone. Only twenties and fifties in clear ruffled sandwich
bags neatly rolled to perfection and taped to look like a black finger. I weighed the odds but could
come to no direct conclusion. "This is the way the drug market currently stands in today's economy."
For five dollars I could buy a nickel bag of pot approximately half the size of my fist, or I could buy this.
I then held the small object in my hand and wondered, is this going to be worth it?

                                                                               Pg 3
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Overall it would be like having less than ten dollars worth.
"Buy it while it lasts," said my good man, "I won't have it forever."
He then palliated the deed by stating that in reference to my question
I was wrong. The marijuana comes from Egypt not Africa.
I then decided to go ahead and accept his offer.

That purchase compromised my savings significantly.

For three brief months, it abounded and was exalted in pot smoking circles.
That was until the plane of rapid decline landed in obscurity leaving everyone to
pause and wonder. Soon the more it was talked about the less it was found until
it disappeared into the murky waters of time forever. Nothing but the cracked and
withered seeds of Neptali remain as I type these notes to you from another day and age.
An age so far away from present day I find it hard to understand I've come this far.

Quietly, I packed some of the sweet smelling Neptali into a thimble sized cup protruding
out from mid center of the tubular bong. I tapped it down neatly before releasing a few
drops of food coloring to the ice and watched as it streamed downward through the
water to the bottom of the bong near the smoke intake aperture.



As it settled along the bottom like green blood,
I wondered what today would bring.

I kept a small vial of the liquid in my paraphernalia box right alongside a bowl,
a couple of toke stones, my rolling papers and a wonderful chunk of red hash,
I copped on Tuesday. Every time I opened that box it felt like I was looking
into a cornucopia filled with the most wonderful of things! This world could
break your heart. It could destroy your dreams, and it could torture your soul,
but sometimes it can almost make you smile. I grinned before lighting the match
and proceeded to inhale, holding it in for as long as I could. Prior to coughing
my lungs felt like a hive that had just been invaded by a swarm of angry wasps.
In my lap, I held the mystic bong, and every time I took a hit it bubbled like dry
ice and looked like a mad invention! I only wanted to take three nice long tokes
for now until I got used to it.



Unlike John and Paul two months down the line who would take ten hits each
without stopping. What happened you ask? John jumps up and reaches under
his bed that was actually just a mattress on the floor. He runs out into the street
with a fully pumped pellet gun and blows the side window out of his Nova.

*I was there too but would not smoke*

"What are you an asshole?" Screamed Paul on the other side
of the car who had to jump out the path of the flying trajectory.
"You could-a-shot me!" "I should have," responded John laughing,
"then I wouldn't have to go for a new window."

As I sat in my bedroom buzzing, I began to think of how small it was
in comparison to other rooms that were nearly twice the size of mine.
It was so small that I was now beginning to feel claustrophobic, and
it was getting smaller by the minute. It almost started to feel like I
was in a tiny prison cell with no hope of ever escaping. As I thought
of my childhood growing up and the way things were now, I was sent
spiraling into the bowels of depression.

Why was I even alive?
What is my purpose in life?
It was clear I didn't have one.

                                                                               Pg 4
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In a way I started to feel like I should be getting ready for retirement
instead of just beginning to live. The feelings I had begun to experience
were to such an intense degree that I honestly felt like I might become
a victim of my own emotions. This profound melancholy welling up
from within my spirit began eating into my brain like an infection,
and I could not stop it no matter how I tried. As I opened my
paraphernalia box and looked inside, I now saw only problems.
If no one was around, I would have thrown it out the window.
A muculent tear ran slowly from my nose, and I wiped it away
quickly. God help me, because I think I made a terrible mistake.

In truth
the only mistake I ever made in this inexorable life was being born.


I then started to think about each of my family members and realized a
hard truth. I was the only black sheep. "You have to grow up sometime,"
my cousin Patricia would tell me. "You can't party forever, unless you
want to live in the street. Get a job and be a man for once in your life.
You want to have a wife and family some day don't you?"

Oh my dear cousins you have no idea, but the fact of the matter remains;
I am leaving today.

Leaving forever this world of misery, this world of suffering.
The torment of having to know things that go far beyond the
normal limits of what a human brain is supposed to be able to
process and understand. The agony of a loss so great it defies
not only reason, but everything my eyes reflect in silence.

I then came to the realization that if I did leave this place, in the
manner of which I was speaking, I was only going to end up in
another place of much greater torment where I would be equally
confounded and besides, I made a promise to a very dear friend a
long time ago that I never would. Had it not been for that promise,
I would not be here today, and this book would not exist.

Boy I really got what I paid for with this shit now didn't I? As I parted
the curtains to look through an unsullied pane of glass, the sun could
be seen delicately emerging through the trees. In my ungoverned mind,
I perceived there to be a message of inspiration on everything those
amber rays touched! The day was now imploring me to live so that I
may explore it! Like a beam of hope, my eyes threw themselves into
the scintillating beauty of an inspiring allurement to find what can only
be described as the dawning of a glorious new day! As the coat of
the sun's orange rays touched the trees, it seemed to make the birds
sing louder! I knew right then and there I wanted to live! I wanted
to live so bad and bask in each moment!

More than anything, I wanted to see a butterfly.
I wanted to see it land in a flower and leave with
something more than it came with. I wanted to
watch it fly around in a circle for no apparent
reason and then disappear into the sky,
the same as I will do one day.



It was one incredible high, and it was not stopping.

A towel had been cleverly placed under the crack of my door
as an added precaution to prevent any mishaps from occurring.
Does she even know I'm up? Six tokes on a bubbling instrument
of smoking pleasure, and I would find myself resonating toward
the light of dreams, which had, in fact, begun to commandeer
my train of thought.

                                                                               Pg 5
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"Inkpop" reviews for chapter 1

Alimr - This is really good. I can tell your a great writer.

cara_ruegg - hah i loved the epigraph. it is so true! :p a beautiful imagery
right away in the first paragraph with the birds chirping etc. I love the dreams.
They're very interesting. This is a great concept! great idea to write about a
daydreamer which all kids are. I can really relate to your character.
Very polished and well-written. I can def see it published.

GG Anderson - WOW And I don't use that word lightly- seriously, this is in perfect shape-
completely polished- ( ok I am no editor- but) I have to say you had me at the ice trays,-
I love love love that visual- The only downside I have for it - it got a little deap at times-
I know that I am blonde, I get that, but sometimes I was re reading to make sure that I
got what you were saying- I don't think it was the phrasing at all, I think it is just simply
that your mind works on a Frasier level- that is not a cut that is a compliment- You are
gifted- seriously seriously gifted- I wish that I had your talent- I read this simply because
I saw your reveiw on something else that I read- if you have time- I would be really
thrilled if you could read mine- You are the type of feedback all writers love- (even
when they don't think they do) :) Thanks for the "deep thoughts"

isabella2296 - The epigraph was an incredible way to start off this fantastic
and intriguing story. I can tell you're a very talented writer, with your amazing
description. This was so well-polished and the writing style was immensely great.
The poetic tone you used was like a melody, practically. This is a work of art!

kumquatsrus - I like the poetic tone used in the narrations. Most of it flows well and
sounds nice on the tongue. However, the plot is somewhat confusing. I feel like things
are jumbled and out of place, because it was really hard to follow what was going on.
That being said, there were very few errors (aside from some missing punctuation),
so kudos on that. I think...I don't know. I can't tell what I think about this. There are
some parts where I was caught thinking to myself, "Hey, this is good!" and others
where I thought, "Wait, what?" I think this is, overall, well written — albeit somewhat
hard to understand. Hope this helped.

Mcrae by Nature - You are a very talented writer. I rarely read first person
point of view and enjoy it. This I enjoyed. Your descriptions are very mature,
and beleivable. Great imagery as well. In all you have a greeat story here. You
sould bring all your chapters together into a book, then people would be more
likely to keep reading and maybe even pick it. Thanks.

The Hippie - Beautiful imagery. I love how the reader is able to live inside your head,
and see every thought and passing imagery. That does make it a bit hard to follow, but
if that's what you are wanting the reader to experience then you have accomplished this.

XochGarcia - You are a very detailed, mature and excellent writer. Your word choices are
needle-point sharp and they fit perfectly well with the story. I did however, (boo if you will,
but at least I am honest) had just a 'teensy' bit of trouble following along. Personally, I can
admit that I too get lost with the details in the stories I try to put down. If I may suggest,
that you emphasize from the very beginning what the story is about. Other than that,
I completely liked, enjoyed it. I will be back for more.


"Worthy of Publishing" reviews for chapter 1


Amy Kulaga - This book is truly worthy of publishing. You choose fantastic word choice!
I can't wait to find this book in stores. (if it isn't already) *rating = 5 stars*


Charles Pendelton - Thank you all for such wonderful input and encouragement!


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PG 1) An advertisement for G. Washington's instant coffee (circa 1950)

PG 1) Zombie by Gary Pullin

PG 2) Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil by Frank C. Pape

PG 2) Alaskan igloo and northernlights painting can be purchased at Taltopia.com

PG 3) Toxicity Inspector by Shepard Fairey

PG 3) The purple marijuana was extracted from a High Times article

PG 4) Granny's bong compliments of Patrick Rothfuss

PG 4) Capitol Hill Cannabis Denver County Fair Neighborhood Seed Company

PG 5) The black & white sad Face was sent to me by a friend

PG 5) Moonlight sonata by Vladimir Kush