Northern Lights
Kori rubbed the slick sleep from her eyes as she padded into the kitchen, her sticky toes clinging to the linoleum in a timid attempt to reduce her flight. The dim afternoon light revealed fresh stains on her apartment’s carpet, and the sick smell of last night’s beer wafted in from the open doors. Completely disregarding her apparent lack of pants, she quietly surveyed the damage through heavy lashes. Beer, barf and bong water formed oceans in the vast, empty expanse of her living room, a place that she did a little less living in and a little more vegetating. A many-armed hookah sat patiently for her in the center of the room, a vicious Cthulhu conducting a symphony of parties, clawing out her brain cells one hit at a time.
And there really was no need for a couch when the floor would do just fine for passing out.
Shrugging, obviously used to this sight, she stepped over an unidentified body on her way to the kitchen. The kitchen, temple of caffeine, house of the divine elixir. Surrender unto us thy divine gifts.
Pop tarts too, please.
Pouring the sweet brown nectar into a mug of questionable cleanliness, she took a half-assed glance over at the sleeping figure on the floor, mustering the determination to check their level of consciousness, and, possibly, some form of identification. Instead what caught her eye was a glaring green post-it, crumpled and re-ironed by a hasty hand. The pen had been fading and a few mysterious brown stains drowned out the words, but Kori could still make out the general message.
deer kor,
taken tha northern lights
dont look 4 us, went sout -
north
wont b back til we toked it all!
peace
kris
Adrenaline shot through Kori’s little round body, electrifying her down to her sticky toes and up to her sticky dreds. Dropping her mug on the counter with a clatter and tripping over the body, who moaned plaintively and returned to rest (thus verifying his life) Kori tore back into her bedroom, her bones humming to the tune of her nerves, fat tears gathering in her temples. Her thick-coiled dreds shaking, she noted with fear the ajar state of her closet door. Collapsing, her pudgy body hit the carpet. The Northern Lights, gone. That beautiful baby leaf, kidnapped, vanished, her ticket to a steady income. Gone. All that hard work - in fact, pretty much all the hard work she had done in her life, cultivating, growing, hiding - gone. Her lucky herb jackpot, gone.
When her tears had quelled and sunk into the flooring, she looked up, ready to face the day again.
A little green hand poked out from her closet, a friendly, potent leaf, still there.
She looked down at the note.
Then back up to her Northern Lights. Smiling now.
Fuckin’ chronics.
And there really was no need for a couch when the floor would do just fine for passing out.
Shrugging, obviously used to this sight, she stepped over an unidentified body on her way to the kitchen. The kitchen, temple of caffeine, house of the divine elixir. Surrender unto us thy divine gifts.
Pop tarts too, please.
Pouring the sweet brown nectar into a mug of questionable cleanliness, she took a half-assed glance over at the sleeping figure on the floor, mustering the determination to check their level of consciousness, and, possibly, some form of identification. Instead what caught her eye was a glaring green post-it, crumpled and re-ironed by a hasty hand. The pen had been fading and a few mysterious brown stains drowned out the words, but Kori could still make out the general message.
deer kor,
taken tha northern lights
dont look 4 us, went sout -
north
wont b back til we toked it all!
peace
kris
Adrenaline shot through Kori’s little round body, electrifying her down to her sticky toes and up to her sticky dreds. Dropping her mug on the counter with a clatter and tripping over the body, who moaned plaintively and returned to rest (thus verifying his life) Kori tore back into her bedroom, her bones humming to the tune of her nerves, fat tears gathering in her temples. Her thick-coiled dreds shaking, she noted with fear the ajar state of her closet door. Collapsing, her pudgy body hit the carpet. The Northern Lights, gone. That beautiful baby leaf, kidnapped, vanished, her ticket to a steady income. Gone. All that hard work - in fact, pretty much all the hard work she had done in her life, cultivating, growing, hiding - gone. Her lucky herb jackpot, gone.
When her tears had quelled and sunk into the flooring, she looked up, ready to face the day again.
A little green hand poked out from her closet, a friendly, potent leaf, still there.
She looked down at the note.
Then back up to her Northern Lights. Smiling now.
Fuckin’ chronics.