one lives in hope of becoming a memory
I had been hearing rumors–rumors that peaked my interest while also making me feel a slight twinge of jealousy, resentment, curiosity, and…intrigue. Cheri and I had spent some time under the new giant mushrooms, tripping on those, and I can’t say that I hated it. In fact, it was probably the most fun I’d had in my life so far. So, naturally, I found myself drawn to the border here, despite my distaste for the name of the land. Names mean little when comparing them to experiences, after all.
The land stretches on for a great distance until it hits the ocean, and I can see virtually all of it. It is not an unpleasant land to look upon, strewn with colorful flowers as far as the eye could see, but it does have me missing the redwoods. Even so, I imagine what it would be like to trip on mushrooms here, with all the bright colors and the wind weaving through the flowers, making them dance ever so gently. Would the hallucinations from the rumored flowers compare, though? Well, there’s only one way to find out.
At first, I see no one here, despite how open the land is. I can sense that there are others here, though. The emotional residue sits in the air like a pollen itself. Some of these signatures are different than most signatures I have come across, though. They are scrambled, almost like they are altered. That would make sense, though, because hallucinations would have that affect. A soft smile brushes against my lips at the thought.
I step forward, the soft blue wings on my back fluttering, barely visible under the bright sun that pours over my back. Soon, however, the sun would go down, and those wings would be plenty bright. Bright enough to play tricks on the eye, especially under the influence of some special poppy pollen. I find myself eager for the experience, but first I would need to find the right flower. That wouldn’t be hard, though. I had figured out which mushrooms were hallucinogenic. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out which flowers to drink the nectar of, either. Still, it would be so much more fun with some company, so instead of searching for the flower, I cast my senses out for the emotional residue that would signify the presence of others.
It is not hard to find the soft wisp of a fresh memory, and I follow it, much like I would with my nose. I weave between the flowers, and the memory grows stronger, until it is so heavy that I know the stallion it belonged to had to be right beneath my hooves. And then he is. His black shape is laying among the flowers, a veteran to their pollens, I can tell. He seems lost among the hallucinations, so I stop for just a moment to examine him, a haunting smile creeping across my chestnut lips. When he doesn’t seem to notice my presence, I step forward and kick his hoof with my own. “I hear there’s fun to be had here.” I say, grinning, now.
Memorie
@[Obscene]