Psychics Shouldn't Take Drugs, Kids

20260420

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Oh no.
No no no!
It’s happening again.
Voices, feelings, memories, they tug at my mind from all directions. Like they’re desperate to be heard. Felt. Remembered. I’m suspended in the middle, pulled so taut I fear I’ll snap at any moment, jerked back and forth by their scrabbling.
I, I, I… my name. My name is…
I can’t remember. I remember that I need to remember who I am but that doesn’t help me remember it just makes it scary that I can’t and while the panic is something to cling to because I’m pretty sure it’s mine I can feel it eroding my grip on things and if I don’t stop spiralling-
A hand grips my wrist. Hard. Not enough to be painful, but enough that it can’t be ignored. Not mine, I’m pretty sure, because I’m pretty sure that’s my hands yanking at my hair.
Their voice is also real. Solid. Not literally, voices aren’t, but, but it cuts through the maelstrom right to my ears. “Breathe. Breathe in, with me. One, two…”
Breathing is an arcane concept right now. I’m not sure how many lungs I have, or what they’re doing. I try my best. I’m not sure it’s helping. But they keep prompting and I keep trying.
Until suddenly I realise that I was so caught up in trying to figure out what my lungs are doing that I’m fairly sure I only have two, and they’re in my chest, and the voices are further away now.
I look up. The world is no longer a kaleidoscope. In front of me is a pale figure in a faded black hoodie and ragged grey jeans.
My first thought, which immediately leaps from my mouth, is “Am I dead?”
“No.” The reaper says, with reassuring confidence.
“Oh. But, like, you’re Death, right?”
They blink. They laugh. They say “No. Just goth. Sorry if I scared you.”
I’m still far too floaty to feel something as complicated and vivid as fear. So I just smile and nod.
The figure who totally looks like a modern reaper but is just a goth says “First time taking acid, huh? You really ought to do drug experiments with a buddy looking out for you, you know. Especially if you don’t know whether you’re psychically sensitive.”
“Psy…?” I blink. Trying to think through the foggy noisy crowd in my brain.
“Your mind slipped through the Veil.” They pull me a few steps and help me sit down.
On a… bench? A bench. I’m in a park. It’s nighttime. My mind snatches up these small contextual clues, relieved to be fairly sure what’s real.
That’s right. I’d been sitting on this bench. I took the acid. And then… I shudder and scrub at my face. The voices are still clamouring. If I stop paying attention I start feeling like I’m somewhere else, doing something entirely different. Like my mind’s stumbling into someone else’s life. Is that what I’m doing? I, I didn’t mean to… at least, I don’t think that’s what I…
I slap myself. Focus on my lungs again. Then on their voice.
They’re on the phone. Calling an ambulance. Oh good. I need help. Ambulance people will know what to do.
Voices rising. Lungs lungs focus on my lungs. I have two and they’re in my chest. I press my hands against my ribs to be sure. Yup. Yup, my hands go in and out as my lungs go big and small, I’m here, this is real. I can not lose my mind until the ambulance gets here.
Shouldn’t be long.
They put their phone down on the bench between us. It’s on speaker. I ask them and the person on the other end of the line and the voices tugging at me “Am I gonna be ok?”
“You should be.” They squeeze my shoulder. “This is a reputable brand and looks like you took a beginner dose. Just need some shielding and stuff. I explained, and medics are on their way to help.”
“Ok. Thank you.”
I have two lungs and they’re in my chest going big and small, in and out, and people are taking care of me and the voices will go away, they will, and I will be left with what’s real. I’ll be ok.
Then I’ll try and remember what I was doing. And why.

Prompt was “Write a scene in which your character feels as though they're being pulled in a million different directions.”