They always say to never do drugs. "Just say no! it's easy!", they say, HA! The best teacher is always hindsight, always is, always will be. Especially when there's an oily black viper—you just puked up—staring right at you. I know I didn't eat anything close to this. It must be a hallucination. "Damn, those Teeth must got me worse than I thought." I wipe the imaginary black spittle from my lips. The thing coils around itself. Its tar like skin seems to constantly ooze. The head with those beady red eyes bobs back and forth in a rhythmic dance.
"Greetings to you too, Rory."
Woah? Did that thing just talk to me? Fine, it's fine. Auditory and visual is all a part of the show. Just gotta calm down, or this'll turn bad.
"I'm not a hallucination, Rory. I'm your familiar or spiritual guide if that's more understandable."
The thing is my spiritual guide? Man, this is the lamest show ever. This must be me telling me to get sober if I'm getting therapeutic hallucinations, "Ok, so what should I call you? Mr. Viper? Mr. Ooze? My conscious? The thing looks around the tent. Is it studying its surroundings?
"you can call me whatever you wish, Rory."
The thing turns back to me. It slithers closer and up my leg. It encircles my body till it reaches my head. I gotta stay calm. It's only a hallucination. It's not real. The thing rests on my shoulders coiled around my neck. It peers down at me, looking me dead in the eyes.
"I'm not a hallucination, Rory. I'm here to help you and keep you safe."
Before I could respond, the thing forces itself down my throat. I can feel its oily skin, and I black out.