"Britty!", Mary shouted, running to the friend. Eleanor dropped the guitar and literally flew over the girl. She was dead to the world, her face giving it all away - white, almost translucent, with the eyes sinking in the face. All of a sudden her eyes opened up for a brief second, to face the friends.
There, in her eyes, Eleanor found out what hell was. She wasn't saying a word, but she was shouting for help. Then she closed her eyes again, and her body stopped trembling. She was still, like a wax sculpture, with all the muscles hard as wood, the veins drawing blue rivers on her skin. Her hand blindly searched for something to hold on.
"Oh my Lord, she’s dead!", Mary shouted as Hari went to see what that fuss was all about.
"She’s not, Mary", Hari said. "I can feel her heart beating. Lay her in some dark place and let her go. It’s the best thing to do."
No one questioned him why. They took her to some other place, while Eleanor stood there, alone at the middle of the huge studio. Unsure of what to do, of what to say. Just staring at the space, mind racing.
Hari was like that too. But for another reason. He could hear something coming from the ceiling. It was Brittany’s soul.
I don’t know if you ever heard that, when we sleep, our soul leaves our body. That’s why we dream - our imagination is out there, having fun while we rest. When someone’s high on something, your soul is suddenly attacked by some forced sleep, and that’s why sometimes the trips are awful - nobody told your mind you’d jump into the unknown. Brittany was walking at the ceiling, finding out it was very interesting to see the world upside-down, not giving a damn to Eleanor’s problems and tears. Artificial happiness, but yet happiness. And that felt so damn good that she didn’t care about anything else. She was laughing at the sky, laughing of their faces, laughing at Eleanor and her frowns.
Hari closed his eyes. One thing that the angels in a human body can do is leave their "skin" without having to use drugs or sleep to do it. Just a bit of concentration...and they would be in sky high. The Warlock flew over to meet the girl on the ceiling. She looked surprised - within reason!
"For how long?", he asked. "For how long will you keep on going like this?"
"Is it of your business? I am happy when I am on my own."
"You are a bastard, Brittany. Look down and see if THEY are happy!"
She looked. Her face didn’t give no clue of what she was feeling.
"Get down and back to your body. And I mean it. I can make you trip for the rest of your days!"
"You are just a teacher. You are high here with me. What can you say?"
"You will see that I am more than I appear to be. GET DOWN!"
Hari opened up his eyes. He was back on his feet.
"Ell, Britty is OK again.", Danny said, entering the studio.
"Too little too late. The recording is already spoiled. I am turning in."
"Do you want to talk to her?"
She just sighed an angry sigh. "I don’t think she will be with all her bones on the same place they used to be after I ‘talked’ to her. I’d better let my anger drip away. If anything else happens, I am down at my flat."
With that, she left the studio. Hari looked to Danny Boy, unsure of what to say like never in his life. "Where’s Britty?"
"Upstairs. Man, what a day."
"You tell me! What’s up with her?"
"Didn’t eat a thing in 48 hours. She’s been really forgetful."
"I am checking her out."
Britty was laid on some couch, mind racing. Bad trip, bad trip, the worst trip of a lifetime. She felt terrible, as if she had been punched by some monster. All the articulations were aching, like she had been stretched to the limit, and beyond it. What a bad trip. Hari entered the place. She cringed - she saw him on her dream...but what had he seen, or heard? Was he really there? Where were you while we were getting high?
"What happened, Britty?"
"I am on a diet, a nazi one. Been forgetting about put some food in once in a while. Guess what happened!"
"Really?", he asked. He was deliberately daring her.
"Yeah, really. Believe me, the only great singer who was fat and loved was Mamma Cass."
"You’d better stop, then. You are way too thin", Hari finished, lifting her from the sofa. As he grabbed her wrist, her faced turned in one expression of pain. "Are you hurt?", he asked, with aching concern. She turned to him, and her eyes, that were dead , turned into a flame that only the poets could explain. That spoke more than everything else.
"You are hurt, ain't you, Britty?", he whispered, with a wicked smile. "Don't make a face, I am not fool."
"Eleanor headed home, and I think we should all follow her example", Danny said, entering the room again. "There’s no mood for rehearsals."
"For once in my life I tend to agree with you.", Daniel said. "Remember of the shootings tomorrow."
"The clip. Yuck, I was beginning to forget it.", Mary said. "Well, it’s going to be good. Change of sights. See you all tomorrow, folks."
"The same!", Danny said. "Britty, do you want me to take you home?"
"I think I remember the way yet, drummer.", she said, in a bitter tone "Thank you, anyway. I am staying a bit more."
They left her alone. Only Hari stayed there. "You are not coming home?", she asked him.
"I thought I could get a kick with you.", he said, plainly, as if he knew the truth all along. "It must be good, the thing you are taking..."
"Oh, boy", she smiled. "No, not here. The shrine", she laughed, pointing the studio "isn’t the place to get high. Though they did it a lot. But we are not them...and we’d better respect the damned tradition. Besides, I am so selfish that I don’t carry nothing with me. You can check me out. Nothing here that can be of any good. Whatever good is."
He walked away from her, but just before he left the studio he turned to her and said, boldly, sadly, bitterly. "You know, Britty, if you go on the way you are, I will be in your funeral. And nobody will cry for you when you die."
"What do you mean with that?"
But he wasn’t there anymore to answer.
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