Drugs

She was a girl of flawed and low character, suitable for little more than feedstock.

The poison taster stands behind her queen’s throne, eyes downcast. She is the only thing in the hall that is drab and unadorned, denied even the fine livery that the serving maids and footmen wear with pride. Her purpose is to die, and when she does her thick black robes will contain the mess. Around her throat is a band of plain silver. The queen wears one too; gold, studded with polished bezoars and staring agates. It vanishes into her finery, just another thing to sparkle and shine; her courtiers easily forget it. The poison taster never does. ...

Thistle’s ears ache each time the finger taps the glass. It’s a horribly large thing, nearly as tall as he is and as thick around as his waist, and its cruel long nail is decorated with flaking red enamel that Thistle can’t help but imagine as drying blood. He hasn’t seen Lion or Yarrow since they were all caught, after all … Flick. His wings twitch involuntarily, painfully, and he whimpers. They weren’t kind when they caught him; his right forewing is crumpled, useless. If he escapes he’ll never fly again.

This story was originally posted to Twitter on April 28, 2022. There’s a mildly embarrassing shelf tucked away in the back of the supermarket, past the jars of pickled spells and the bottles of five-hour-Stillness. It’s part of the store you’ve always been dimly aware of, but why would you ever need to buy some freeze-dried Purpose? Well, today you have a reason. You don’t linger in front of it, just grab the first vacuum-sealed bag that looks right and try not to meet the cashier’s eye as their hands blur through scanning it and all your other groceries. ...

(Originally posted May 27, 2023) “Miss,” the doll plaintively asks, “what are all of these pills?” “They’re vitamins, dear. Here, let me get you something to wash them down …” She stares at the bowl before her as she bustles off. Some of them look like vitamins, true, little oddly shaped gummies and tiny pressed pills: familiar sights from all the other times she’s been given supplements to keep her nice and healthy and to help her hair grow into beautiful curling locks. ...

“Hey, get ready. Fifteen seconds …” “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready.” “… five, four, three, two, inhale—” The burnt-lemon smoke burns her throat as it goes down, leaves her feeling rough and raw. Spasmodic coughs shake her body. “—there, I think you got it all. Sit down …” Her head feels hot as her friend’s hands guide her down to the carpet’s cool embrace. It’s so soft, so yielding! The perfect place to be, the perfect place to stretch out her legs and wiggle her toes and giggle and fall over— ...

a response to this prompt. It’s not quite your first day, but she makes it feel like it is. Everywhere you go in the tiny, crowded kitchen you can feel her eyes on you, the heat radiating from her bulk as she slides in next to you (or behind you, with the weight of her arms reaching around your too-slender body) to correct some perceived flaw in what you know is exactly what you were told to do just a few days before. ...

Drip. Drip. Drip. There’s been something wrong with the showerhead all week, the valve not quite sealing no matter how tight you turn the knob. Not a big issue, not really, the landlord pays for the water, but … It just keeps on dripping. And dripping. Drip. Drops falling down to splatter on the tile floor, little bursts of watery noise echoing out through the closed door, falling and hitting and falling and hitting and— ...

Light falls across the couch in thick golden beams, filtering in through dusty windows thrown open to catch the setting sun’s warm breeze; there’s dust in the air, and smoke, and the thick musky scent of slowly drying sweat. When you first got here the smoke was the woody stink of distant fires, but now it’s just good clean weed and and the strangely layered perfume of vaped DMT. The world doesn’t feel real, hasn’t for a long time; reality trickles away with each breath you take and each time your friend passes you the blunt. She’s the only person you really know here, the only reason you were invited; usually you’d feel awkward, but everyone’s so hazy and high and the couch really is so comfortable … ...

The thing behind the mirror beats against it as you prepare your salvation, strangely colored liquids bubbling through twisted glass and gases shimmering with heat’s haze condensing down through concentric silver rings. It took so long to prepare, so many failures! But now it’s ready. You know it can’t make any noise, not here, not from behind the mirror, yet as its face contorts in fear and rage you can hear it screaming. It echoes through your mind, wordless and thought-devouring, making thought all but impossible— ...