Re-Post: Shrooms: A Good Trip and a Bad Trip

This is the story about the first and the last time I ate magic mushrooms.

It was Halloween, some time ago when I tasted my first magic mushroom. A friend of mine had invited me to a party at his friend's house nestled in the forested hills somewhere near North Bend, Oregon. As the sun was coming down the five of us made our way to the back room where we each took hold of a piece of pizza on top of which lay two or so grayish, dried mushrooms. We ate our slices, some in silence and some with childish glee. My nerves were peaked but I was committed to the experience and I ate my slice with all its foul flavors. As it hit my tongue I was compelled not to continue but I forced it down, the pizza barely masking its rotten impression.

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30 Days of Fiction: Day 24

I woke up the morning of the funeral in a melancholy mood. My friend Harry had died two days ago in a car accident and I was still in shock. Our last conversation ended in a shouting match and it had been two months since we had spoken. We had fought about his decision to go public with his newest work and I knew that it would not be met with the widespread praise that he had envisioned but he went ahead and launched it anyway. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that he was really dead. 

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