I mime the shape of a cigarette with my fingers but then quickly slide my hands under my legs when I notice that I’m making the shape of a cock. And I’m way too stuffed for that.
“It’s made of tobacco leaves and you roll it up to smoke,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Nevermind.”
“The ferocious Straykeer will make one for his Mandy,” he says proudly. “He will find the leaves of the trabaca tree and roll them into a cigarat.”
“Really?” I ask, straightening up. I can already feel the sweet smoke filling my lungs and the familiar feeling of a cigarette dangling between my fingers. “Please don’t tease me on this. That would be too mean.”
“Straykeer will leave now.” He darts out of the cave and normally I would stop him, being too scared to stay by myself, but this time I gladly let him go.
I’ll take the risk of being eaten by a dinosaur for the slim chance of having a cigarette. It sounds like a fair compromise.
I’m already practicing, placing my index and middle fingers to my lips while I inhale the clean air pretending that it’s the delicious tar-filled, cancer-infused smoke that I love so much. Most of my friends from high school smoked to look cool, taking quick shallow breaths in the forest before class, but not me. I’ve always loved it.
There’s nothing like the satisfying flick of a lighter, the beautiful hissing sound as you inhale, the taste of wet paper on your lips, the gorgeous smoke as it dances into the air. Fuck I miss cigarettes.
I’m giddy as Straykeer returns with some brown leaves in his hand. I’ve been smoking for years but I’m embarrassed to say that I have no idea what a tobacco leaf looks like.
Straykeer shows it to me and I nod. Sure. Why not?
“That’s tobacco?” I ask as he smooths out the individual leaves.
“Yes,” he says with a nod. That sexy concentrated look is back on his face and I can’t help but smile. “This is the leaf from the trabaca tree. Why does my beautiful Mandy want it?”
“I’ll show you,” I say, sprinting outside for half a second to grab a purple leaf on the closest bush. I rip if off and run back in before something eats me alive.
I take the tobacco leaves from his big hands, rip them into small pieces and stuff them onto the purple leaf, rolling it up like a makeshift cigarette.
Straykeer’s eyes widen as I pull out the lighter again. He takes a step back as I light it and take a delicious drag.
My chest explodes into a coughing fit as my eyes water and my throat burns. “Fuck,” I groan as I hold my fist to my chest and cough again. “That’s not tobacco.”
I take one more drag just to make sure and this coughing fit is even worse than the last.
“Why are you doing that?” Straykeer asks, looking at me with a confused look on his face.
“My mother used to ask me the same thing,” I say, looking at the not-quite-a-cigarette in my hands.
“The trabaca leaves are not for breathing in,” Straykeer says, his voice oscillating from a deep baritone to a high pitched screech throughout the same sentence. “That is to place at the door to ward off the bad spirits.”
For some odd reason, I find that hilarious. I burst out laughing, holding my stomach as the laughter seems to penetrate every inch of my body.
“Oh no,” I say, looking down at the smoking purple leaf in my hand. It has two tiny little hands and they’re both giving me two miniature thumbs up. “What the fuck?!?” I scream as I throw it on the ground and step away.
“Are you hurt my Mandy?” Straykeer asks stepping forward.
My heart is hammering against my chest as I look up at his face. His skin is melting off like the last scene in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark that scared the shit out of me when I was a kid. The live version is even more terrifying.
“Straykeer,” I whisper, cringing as two horns start growing out of his head like a ram. “You’re growing horns,” I say in disbelief.
“Straykeer told you not to breathe in that smoke,” he says, oddly calm for someone whose face is melting off of his head.
“Oh God,” I say closing my eyes and holding my fists to my temples. “I’m tripping balls!”
I’ve always been the worst drug user ever. After smoking some weed, I’m always the one who’s darting her head to the door, expecting someone to burst in with a chainsaw. I’m always the one who needs constant reassurance that everyone in the room doesn’t hate me.
And that’s with a little bit of weed.
I just smoked Drandroka dope. It feels like I took a dozen hits of alien acid.
It’s not good and it’s getting even worse.
My hands are shaking, I can literally feel my heart pounding in my head, and I’m drenched with a fresh coat of sweat.
“Oh no,” I gasp, inching backward until my back hits the cave wall. My skin is tingling all over. There are bugs all over me. I close my eyes and tell myself that it’s just the drugs but I know it’s not true. There are millions of insects crawling over my skin.