Alfred Hermanni

Stoned in Germany - The dead man by the river

 

 

 

by Alfred Hermanni 02.02.2011 ( All rights reserved)

 

It was a warm, beautiful spring day , when I looked out of the window.

I lived in a house on the edge of a forest, overlooking a small lake.

What I do  here at home, I thought, when it is so beautiful outside.

I looked at the thermometer outside , 25° Celsius and not a cloud in the blue sky.

A light breeze made the leaves on the trees rustle softly.

It is May, and many birds are in courtship. Their chorus of chirping filled the air and gives the joyful mood in me a little boost.

My decision was clear: Take a walk outside, having a “bath in the woods”.

But first I had to fumble a few things that I want to take along.

My walkman, where is my walkman?

Whenever I want to use it, I have to look for it.

This time I found it very quickly.

Sunglasses, lighter, papers and tobacco I have in my pocket.

What I was missing was my crumb.

My buddy Uwe, gave it to me yesterday,

best quality from Morocco.

I put my piece of dope into the tobacco bag and started my walk.

 

It was not far to go to my favourite place at the lake. A little offside the trail there is a small bridge at the water. Large enough, to provide space for two people to relax .

Mostly it was occupied by fishermen, but not today.

Lucky me sat down and enjoyed the view across the water.

Not far away I could see a heron, motionless as always, standing on one leg. On an old wooden post, that rose about one foot far from the surface,  a water turtle sat down. 

Some coots and their brood were passed by.

It was a really idyllic atmosphere there.

I put out my tobacco bag, three leaves stick together, preparing the mixture, and soon the joint was ready for smoking.

And I smoked it in a very happy mood.

Always concerned not to allow it to become hot. Carefully I brushed off the ash and let it cool down before I inhaled the smoke again. I felt the essential components of hashish clear in my bronchial tubes, that was a sign of good quality.

When I finished smoking, I put out this funny cigarette. But I didn't throw it into the water or in the bushes, because I intended to take it with me to dispose it later. And so I let it lie next to me.

The joint began to work and I felt that I became really stoned.

 

My thoughts went through my brain as they usually don't do. I thought about this and that, these and those.

Confused thoughts, nothing real or concrete. Not to grasp or to understand, rather illogical and not to follow back. Surreal images and sensations flowed into my consciousness, nothing I could lead.

From afar I heard a flute playing, I listened to the quiet sounds and realized, that it was the wind which carried the voices of birds across the lake.

An insect flew past me, settled down on a rare royal thistle. I looked more closely at this small animal, and what I saw was a creature of perfect beauty. It's body was white, never before I have seen such an insect in a bright white as it was shown to me now.

Fascinated I looked at the animal, when it already flew away. I wished to look even longer. I wished it good luck and sat down again.

With slow movements I put on the headphones, launched the Walkman, chose the radio function and received a classical music station. I wanted to switch to another station, but I stopped doing so because the music enchanted me.

This is the flight of the bumblebee from... from...Kor...Korsakov, I knew.

I listened to this wonderful music and laid down slowly on my back.

The music took me in fantasy worlds, created images and visions in unrelated sequences.

The dope worked and I lay on the platform over the lake and enjoyed the stimulation.

I used my jacket as a pillow, so I could let my eyes wander and soak the scenery in front of me.

I was pretty stoned and lay perfectly still, when a bird alighted on my right leg.

It hopped up and down, glanced again and again in all directions and pecked my jeans.

I blinked and the bird flew away. Good luck, my little friend.

The music ceased and another began, softly tunes from a cello concerto.

The swan from Camille Saint-Saens, I knew.

Perfect. As done for me, because I saw a white swan floating on the lake. Slowly and majestically it drew his circles.

As if the music was just for it, the swan moved silently across the water

and let me share the essence of these beautiful sounds.

Melancholy, contemplation, a little sadness and gentleness, combined with the incomparable beauty of this precious creature which now swam calmly towards me.

It was all one. Me. The music. The lake. The swan. And all the feelings which now revealed themself to me.

Then the swan looked at me, straight into my eyes. Totally amazed I looked back and for one moment I thought, that GOD took a look at me.

The swan drifted very slowly past me and disappeared from my view.

I was still completely stoned and lay further on the footbridge.

I didn't know how long I was already there, when I heard children's voices in the distance.

Slowly the children approached. I kept my eyes shut, they should think I was quietly asleep!

Two young boys were here to explore the area.

“Hey, there is one”,  I heard one of the boys saying.

“Yeah, I can see him too. But he doesn't move”,  the other boy said.

“Certainly he is dead. Come on, let's move away!”

It is better, I thought, then I've got here my rest.

Further I listened to the music.

And then I fell asleep.

 

Someone grabbed me by my shoulder. I opened my eyes and woke up in alarm.

Not less startled, a paramedic looked at me and exclaimed: “He is indeed not dead. It was a false alarm!”

And there they stood , rescue workers, ambulance, the doctor on call, the fire-brigade

and of course...the police.

One of the cops came straight at me, looked down on me with a curiously, saw the remainder of the joint, looked at me again and I knew instantly what would happen next.

I was offerd a free ride in their car, of course only in the back and was asked a string of questions back at the police station.

 

The End 

 

Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Alfred Hermanni.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 01.02.2011.

 

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