You can’t just randomly trust people… Fuck it, he thought, ordered another beer, and decided to forget about it all for a while.


    Should I? He stood up, took a step, then halted in his tracks, balled his hands in fists, contemplating. Is this really a good idea? It was out of character for him to have a trip without preparation. Just go with it, he thought and walked over to the desk drawer. He opened it, and out of the mess, he pulled out a little plastic bag, a recycled bag that a dealer had given him once with some weed inside. Now it held something else, a few dried mushrooms and a desiccant. He grew them himself with the mushroom-growing boxes freely available on the internet. The possession of the box was legal but growing wasn’t. Out of the drawer, he pulled out a small scale, on which he placed an empty plastic bowl. He then emptied the satchel of mushrooms into the container and weighed his mushrooms. Eight grams… let’s go with five? He asked himself. They didn’t pack a punch last time. For some reason, his last batch had been pretty lackluster. He assumed it was his lack of equipment. However, this time he bought a heating mat and a humidity and temperature gauge. He was pretty sure this batch would be it.


    five should be good, which was enough to send a normal person into the realm of death and rebirth. He ground the mushrooms and poured hot water over them, then added a bag of tea. He dropped the satchel with affection into the broth and squeezed out a shit ton of honey, somewhat aggressively, as he said, “Yeaaah baby.” Underneath, however, he felt tense. He sighed as the playful spirit deserted him, and all that was left was fear. He now sat at the desk with the mug before him. With his head resting on his fists, he stared at the wall as if avoiding eye contact with the potion. Usually, it is dark blue; he thought as he stole a look at the transparent brown liquid. Something must have gone wrong during the cultivation, he worried. Blue stands for oxidized psilocybin, he thought but didn’t finish the thought, that already oxidized psilocybin is inactive in the human body. He took out his phone to distract himself, flipping through some videos about puppies while trying not to think too much as he sipped his way into oblivion. However, he had no time to settle.


    Slow things down a bit, but it was no use. He sat cross-legged on his chair, “I’ve been here before,” he said aloud. “I can handle this.” Just need to meditate and breathe, and it will wash away. He tried to focus on his breath and calm his mind. However, the intention was to fight what was happening to him. The fight grew in intensity, and the odds were not in his favor. “These mushrooms are the real deal,” he said aloud, “fuck.” Why did I do this? Why do I do this to myself? Tears began to roll down his cheeks, one after the other.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    You’ll be fine. It’s just you… your mind. There’s nothing there. However, it was of no use. He spoke words of surrender but fought at the same time.


    Submit.”


    “It’s a message,” he said,


    Terror. He twisted and wrenched in the bed. Remorse and sadness replaced the fear. He wept for the pain and suffering of people across the globe.


    What the hell just happened?