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 Blood, Sweat, and Pot Smoke View next topic
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Joined: 13 Jan 2008
Posts: 10

PostPosted: Mon Apr 21, 2008 1:39 am Reply with quoteBack to top

April 19th, 2008 --

"Shit..", Maxwell muttered under his breath as he stood outside of an old, decrepit looking building on Vine. It was close to the Ghetto, and made of brick that, at any given time, looked like it wouldn't be standing for more than another day or so. The night air was cold, more so than it should have been during the near-summer season. That was Los Angeles though. Smog and soot did weird things to the climate. Max knew. He'd lived there for all of his life.

Homeless people.

None of them phased the still-young Kinfolk. Not anymore. It was average life. It was the world that he'd grown into. That didn't mean that he couldn't change it, though. Or do his part. And so, cupping his hands together and blowing into them to give warmth, he pulled his hoodie closer and walked into the building, right under the small paper flyer that read 'Recovering from Marijuana: Group Sessions from ten to midnight, every Wednesday and Sunday'. The last words on the street before the door closed behind him were, "I can't believe I'm fucking doing this..".

After the first hour, his turn came. He hated it. This place was emotional suicide. The people here didn't have a problem with Marijuana. They had a problem with social interaction, and it showed. They wallowed in it. He stood up at the podium, watching all of those faces. It was as if they expected him to just let it all out. To confess his life. To give in, and be their friend. Shit. If half of them had to put up with a quarter of the crap he had to, they wouldn't be at Marijuana Dependants Anonymous. They'd be in a damn institution. And so he did what was required. He opened up.

"Hi. My name is Maxwell. Maxwell..uh..Kreznekof. I know. I don't sound Russian. I'm not. My parents were just weird, and stoned when they named me..".

There. That wasn't so hard. He didn't even have to use his last name. In fact, his first name was the only thing he'd even said that was somewhat close to being in relation to his real life. Hey. This could be fun. Everyone had their problems, right? A little bird had once told him that it was best to laugh, if just to keep from crying. Damn. Those Corax were smart.

"I'm here because I like Marijuana. More than I should. I tell people that it helps me to think. That's a lie. It helps me to relax. I've always had a hard time with relaxing. I used to be fine with it. Ten joints a day. Sometimes more. No problem. I loved it. Now I have something bigger and more important to take care of, though. So it's no longer the drug for me. I've found a replacement. And I don't mind. I get the shakes. The doctor has told me that you can't get addicted to Marijuana. There's nothing addictive to it. The therapist tells me that I've created a mental dependency on it. I told he--..".

Cut off. The phone ringing in his pocket pulled his attention down to it. And Maxwell Hearkenstone was just rude enough to answer it. The LCD screen on the front flashed an aquamarine light, and the single name 'Charlotte'. 'Shit', he thought. He let it ring once, twice, and then a third time, before he looked up to the audience and raised a hand.

"Alright. Not a word. This is my girlfriend. I don't want her to know I'm here. So don't get any ideas..". He answered the phone. Of course, the people in the audience could just hear one side of the conversation. It went like this.

"Hm? No. I'm fine."
"Yeah? That's awesome! You didn't..kill anyone did you?"
"Well. Shit. You didn't get hurt, right? Just two of them dead?"
"Awesome. Alright. I'm uh..with some friends. I've got to get."
"Yeah. Thanks. Stay safe, Charlie. You're not a superhero."

A few of the people in the audience had a blank stare, or something close, to greet the Kinfolk with when he hung up his phone and looked around. Clueless, he just asked, "What?", before going back to his speech.

"I guess I don't really need a support group. I've got a family now. Probably the best family. I don't really know why I'm here. I guess I just wanted to see where I'd end up if I lost that family. Thanks for being so motivational..". That said and done, Maxwell Hearkenstone, self-proclaimed adventurer, walked off of the stage, down the aisle, and out.

He never looked back.

April 20th - 2008

The sound of the alarm clock was alien. A foreign siren that needed to be silenced, before it caused the ship of his dreams to crash upon the jagged rocks of waking up. It wasn't that he was unfamiliar with the sound. He was just unfamiliar with hearing it before the crack of noon. Maxwell Hearkenstone had successfully failed to wake up before noon on mostly every single day of his life for the past three years. It was an incredible record, and one that he was rather proud of. Alas, to all good things there must come and end. Today was that end.

It's incredible to think that Maxwell had gotten out of bed without first making a detour to smoke a joint. It was his morning ritual after all. But he'd conquered that. Or was in the process of doing so. It's more incredible to think that he actually made it from his bedroom, down his hall, into the kitchen, and successfully poured a bowl of cereal while still remaining in one piece. It was eight in the morning. Maxwell's eyes never really opened until about one in the afternoon. This was a special occassion though. This was to be the very first day of the rest of his life.

The Glasswalker Kin stopped as he was putting the jug of milk back into the icebox. He just rolled his eyes at the list that he'd taped to it the night before. His face screwed up into a blanched look as he read it again and muttered, "Fuck. I'm going to need suicide counceling after today".

Eight AM - Wake up
Ten AM - Wrestling Class
Three PM - Don't think about Pot
Four PM - Schoolwork
Six PM - Running with Sofiya
Eight PM - Save the world
Midnight - Sleep

Schoolwork. It never ended. Most guys didn't have a problem with writing up a simple report on something like the current state of economics. Most guys didn't have to balance that out with giant fucking werewolves, ugly monsters, exploding cargo ships, and other such non-common life affecting 'complications'. Yeah. Today was going to be rough. At least Wrestling Class and Running. And not thinking about pot. The rest of it he was used to by now.

Especially that whole 'saving the world' part.
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