(POV: James Garrison, local pothead)
"She's not real," they all say. "Stop smoking weed, it's not good for you," they all say.
You're gonna prove them wrong. You're not gonna smoke it, you're gonna eat it. You devour 3 pounds of weed like it's Thanksgiving and immediately collapse on the floor.
911 is called immediately, but you're already there. The white space, in all its blinding glory, calls to you.
They said she wasn't real, but here she is. Zero eyes, three arms. Her name is Martha. Not really, but you decided to call her that.
"Martha, how are you, darling?" You call out.
".̶͔̈́-̷̼͝-̵̲͝ ̵̬̍.̷̡̅.̵̳͐.̸̘͋.̴̞͂ ̵̭͑-̷̡͋-̷̫̕-̵͙͠ ̵͍̀.̵̳͂-̴̰͘-̵̏͜-̴̢̛-̷̼̾.̵̗̑ ̵̪̓.̸̫̕.̵̦͛.̵̜͠ ̴̽͜/̶̳̏ ̵͍̍-̸͍̑-̷̺͂ ̶̫͠.̵̢̽-̸̻͗ ̵̪̿.̶̼̋-̸̗͋.̷̟̀ ̴̺͂-̷͚̒ ̶̳̃.̴̢̐.̴̠̚.̸͎̚.̴͔͒ ̸̝̋.̴̘̅-̶͈͊ ̵̞̔.̶͚́.̵̭̌-̷̭̽-̶̝̽.̸͇͆?"
"Glad you're having a good day, Martha!"
".̶̪̒.̴̍͜ ̵̞̊.̶͍͠-̵̩̈́-̸̝̃-̵̯̚-̸̟̓.̷̧͆ ̷̱̄-̴͈̓-̷̤̽ ̴̙͒/̴̘́ ̵̥̄.̸͉̿.̸͓̓.̶͍̀ ̷͔̓-̸̼͠ ̵̦̓.̷̙͗.̴̹͑ ̵̱̀.̸̠́-̸̮̕.̵̠̚.̵̛͜ ̷̯̈.̶̟̈́-̶̰͊.̷̫̒.̶̟̅ ̶̜́/̶̳͂ ̷͍̆-̵̫̓.̸̦̇ ̶̠̂-̴̤́-̴̘͋-̸̔͜ ̷͖͊-̷̭͂ ̵̯̾/̴̙͋ ̷͙͋.̴̱͋-̸͇́.̴̤̇ ̷̹̈́.̵͇̍ ̶̩̐.̸̮̏-̸̡̿ ̸̛͚.̸͚̍-̶̝́.̶͐ͅ.̵̦̉ ̷̭̋.̸͍̿-̵̝͑.̵̛͎-̷̪͒.̷͎͠."
"Okay, fine, I'll give you a kiss."
But just before you could, everything went dark. Back in the hospital, as always. Your head hurts. Your throat feels dry. What have you done? What were you trying to prove?
YOU ARE READING
Something About a Phone
FanfictionSpirit Phone, retold. "have a favorite album? write a book!" - nobody ever But seriously, I finished writing this in two hours and should take about 2 minutes to read if you're me (I read fast so idk how long it's gonna take you) Go listen to Ivanus...
