Figmental Sharks

It was a mistake. She knew that now.

Carrie like to smoke pot, tons of it, but until this morning that was all she’d ever done. When Tony had handed her the gelcap, with a smile on his face, she hadn’t wanted him to think less of her. No, that wasn’t it. She’d wanted to impress him.

But now, after it had kicked in, she wished she’d never met him.

She was waist deep in water, the fins of sharks at the corners of her vision. Past her outstretched fingers floated all manner of awful things, from needles and random bits of garbage to rotting, gas-bloated bodies.

Carrie tried to slosh her way to shore, knocking over chairs and stacks of books. She couldn’t see the carpet beneath her or the lamp that was only inches from her face. All she could see was the vast span of water and the sun glaring down into her eyes.

She stumbled, and in her panic fell face down onto the floor. She was drowning. She could feel the rancid water clogging her nose, filling her throat.

Behind her, the sharks closed in.

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