Thread: The Trip - As inspired by Christopher McCandless

A red cherry of herb burns out as a man sets his pipe down on the table next to his faded, brown vintage recliner. He was beginning to feel the onset of nearly five grams of psilocybin as the poison began to creep into the serotonin receptors in his brain. The newest Animal Collective album was turned on and he closed his eyes and opened his mind to prepare for the trip.

“Thirty years ago,” he thought, “people were taking these to make the world weird. Now we’re all taking Prozac to try and make it normal.”

The drug, more intense now, was starting to alter his consciousness. He could feel himself being pulled into the chair, and he opened his eyes for a brief moment to see leaves on an indoor plant dancing to a wind that wasn’t there. He became engulfed by the music as his mind was seemingly changed by the sound, almost as if the notes and his being were two dancers moving seamlessly as one. As the first song reached the crescendo, the lyrics “I’d walk out in the flowers and feel better, if I could just leave my body for the night” wrapped them selves around him and squeezed him tighter, until he ceased to exist.

No longer aware of his human body, his being (or non-being) became but an aura of light being absorbed by plants the likes of which he had never seen. When his existence had nearly merged with that of the flowers, a skyscraper lacking any form of color removed him by bursting from nothingness on top of him, and his state of being exploded like a firework. Expanding as an assortment of sparks and color, his flecks of light struck the ground and grew each into their own vine, until his existence was climbing this atrocity fighting it as light against dark in an epic battle for nature against its long time enemy, civilization. As the blackness crumbled and fell, life sprung from where there was no opportunity for it, as thousands of neon colored birds consumed the air. While this was occurring, he was filled with what felt like had been a missing part of his being; he felt a connection to mother earth. When he explored this newfound connection, a knowledge of the natural world was bestowed upon him and he grew wise, realizing how man’s civilization has been oppressing and destroying the life of the earth, the very life forces it depends on.

The universe around him seemed to melt into a pool of color until a bright flash, and his eyes snapped open to the sight of his dimly lit apartment and an overwhelming nausea flooded his system. He ran outside and as the scent of evergreen flooded his nostrils it felt as if it was cleansing his body from the inside out, and he realized that there certainly were wrong ways to live. Twenty-four hours later his life savings was on it’s way to charity, and he was on his way to a complete rebirth. His name, in fact, he had already chosen; Alexander Supertramp.


Feel free to criticize! Harshly!

Chris, I did enjoy this. Not having any medical knowledge, it wasn't clear what the man is taking at the start of the piece. Is it Prozac? If so, I think the direct speech may be a bit of an obvious way to inform the reader - most of the piece has a magical / altered state feel to it, so this section at the start jars a little. It starts to flow after this, and I really liked your descriptive skills. Is it something you have experienced yourself? It reads like you have, which is to your credit.
The last paragraph starts well. The man is back in reality, and the reader is drawn in, wanting to discover how it ends. The last two lines left me cold. He gave his money to charity and called himself Alexander Supertramp? Is that relevant? Is there some kind of 'in-joke' I've missed? It feels like you got bored with the story and rushed a quick ending. It was a shame that the spell was broken right at the end. Have you considered writing this story as a poem?