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Free in Ambrosia

Dameon's picture

As the plunger on the needle sank, pumping liquid sunlight into my veins, the world around me exploded. The off-white walls of my room became alive with color, angry reds sparring around somber blues, while playful greens danced together. Inside my chest, my heart hammered as if it was trying to beat its way out through my ribcage, and its sound was like a powerful drum lending a primal rhythym to my existence. Objects on the floor changed from the debris of life into toys, bright and demanding of my attention. I ignored the toys and turned my gaze on the goddess lying next to me.

She was perfect; indescribably and undeniably perfect. She was Venus incarnated and come to my room. She was speaking, but I couldn't hear her over the drum that was my heart. I laughed from pure joy at seeing her, and she joined me. I could see our laughter in the air, meeting and winding together, rising up and going to heaven as one. We held each other closely, our hearts beating in time, and whispered the secrets of the universe into each others' ears all night until, with the first rays of dawn creeping in between the shades on the windows, we fell asleep holding each other.

When I woke, she was still in my arms, but the body was cold and dead.


I had met her the previous day, at the pharmacy. I'd gone there to up my dose, because the Ambrosia was losing its effect. It wasn't enough anymore, but at the pharmacy, they'd give me a more potent version. They didn't charge; I'd heard that once, before we became enlightened, you actually had to pay for your drugs. These days, we knew better. It was a public service, like roads, or schools. You just went to the nearest pharmacy, told them what you needed, and they gave it to you.

We were in the waiting room together; nobody else was there except the receptionist, who was reading a book with a bored expression on her face. She obviously wasn't flying, and I couldn't see why not. Still, that was her business. I was just on some uppers, myself, and maybe a bit of hallucinogen mixed in for the hell of it. The waiting room was small and neat, with some magazines lying around accomplishing nothing. Who would bother with a magazine when you can pop a couple of pills and instantly be in another world?

The girl, though, not the receptionist but the other one, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She had hair that was the color of dark honey. It was long, flowing around her and constantly moving like living clothing. Her eyes met mine, they were bright green, and a shock went through me like electricity.

"What's your name?" The words drifted out of my mouth with a life of their own. A small smile spread across her mouth like sunrise; the room lit up around me with its power.

"I am Scheherazade," she replied in a husky voice that, like her hair, reminded me of honey. "I am Hera, I am the new moon and the setting sun." She got up and walked over as she spoke, her hips swaying as she came, her entire thin body bending like a willow. Reaching me, she planted a hand lightly on each of my shoulders, leaned over, and placed a kiss on my forehead. The warmth from her lips spread through my entire body, and I became light as air, rising out of the chair like a balloon carried in a current. She was my height, and her eyes peered into my soul without apology or shyness.

We stood there for hours, for days, spiraling into eternity. We were locked into each other, neither able nor willing to break away from each other. The spell was broken when the pharmacist pushed a package into my hand, and I had the impression he'd been saying something. I smiled at him and thanked him, and she did the same, taking her own package, then we walked out the door holding hands and staring through our eyes into each others' souls.

Some of the color started draining out of the world, so I took a pill out of my pocket and swallowed it.

We wandered through the city all day. We were a king and queen, and it was our city. Men and women stopped digging through the trash to bow to us, smiling and taking off battered hats with trembling, dirty hands. At the park downtown, a woman with a guitar wearing brightly colored clothes sang us a song of such beauty that we both cried. We needed neither food nor water, feeding only off each others' love. I held her in my arms and we danced to the sound of somebody with a wooden flute until the sun went down. Then, holding hands and speaking to each other softly, we made our way back to my apartment.

The cold night breeze brushed us fondly, caressed us like an old friend; it muttered in our ears and we both laughed at the things it told us. I held her close and the words "I love you" were spoken by both of us. Neither of us knew which of us said it first, and we didn't care. The words were spoken, and they were true. We kissed, and it was more pure and perfect than any other kiss had been in my life. Her clothes were thin, and as I ran my hands down her back and caressed her ass, I could feel every line and curve of her body as if she were naked.

The kiss broke after a minute. Time was going too fast, so I popped a downer, and she had one too. The final distance to my apartment was crossed through molasses, each moment painfully clear and eternal. Time stretched out before us like an endless road. We reached my apartment after years had passed.

I filled two needles with Ambrosia. Her eyes smiled at mine as I put the needle in her vein and got her off. Then I lay back and she got me off. It was better than sex.


In the morning, her eyes were empty, the soul fled, and blood had flowed from her nose all over us. Moaning, I untangled myself from her lifeless limbs. Running to the bathroom, I puked in the toilet, although nothing but stomach acid came up. I was shaking all over, my high gone; I ached with pain, body and soul. I picked up the phone and called 911.

Waiting was hell, with the girl lying there staring into nothingness on my bed. The world was cold, empty. All good things were just illusion, and only horrors like this were real. I tried turning my back on her, but that was worse. When I turned away from her, my mind conjured visions of her corpse getting up and silently walking over to me, a small, vicious smile twisting her lips as her hand descended to grab my shoulder and drag me into oblivion with her. I could feel her hand about to touch me, and I turned around quickly, screaming and recoiling into a corner, but she still lay on the bed, empty eyes staring at another world. I swallowed a couple of uppers and didn't take my eyes off her again.

They showed up finally, wearing white gloves and disposable green clothes. They packed her into a black bag while I watched, trying to make myself cry but unable to shed a single tear. When they carried her out the door, her blood still covered my bed, and I still had her blood on me. It was slowly drying, and some was already flaking off me. The door slammed shut behind them; they had come and gone without a word to me, neatly and professionally carrying off her body like they were machines.

I'd popped a couple of uppers, but I could barely feel them. I filled a needle with Ambrosia from a vial, and as I drifted away from reality and pain, I had already forgotten her face. As I sank onto my bed, which was now covered in scarlet silk so brilliant it hurt my eyes, I thought about how lucky I was to be so free.


this is a nice little look into a tragic and forgotten story- that probably happens all the time
meybe some more tactile setting or circumstance imagery would help

Very nice.

Beautiful imagery and I loved the ending. I have but two suggestions:

1. Waking up and finding her dead would be much more shocking if we don't see it coming. I understand that you used it as a hook at the top of the story, but maybe something else would work just as well? Something that alludes to his creeping, drug-indiced madness, perhaps?

2. Find a more poetic synonym for the word "ass" in " I ran my hands down her back and caressed her ass..." It really broke me out of the faerie tale reverie.

Nicely done. --Dan