http://sf.co.ua/id52240
On Dec 15th, a night under the spell of the falling rain in the dark alleys of New York City, there was a helpless, homeless young man covering his head and shoulders from the rain and wind. The night was dark, blurry and cold, and the only illuminating objects which shined his way were the headlights of the cars passing by him vanishing in seconds into the night. The helpless young man hung his head over his neck, tucked his shoulders into the blanket that he used to cloak himself from the eyes of pedestrians, he felt humiliated, he needed this barrier to hide his shame from the glaring eyes of the people who watched him. As he was settling in for the night that seemed never-ending, a shadowy figure approached him, he could not tell whether it was a man or a woman, the person leaned over and was there for a fleeting moment then it was gone. So quick was his disappearance that the homeless man could not decide if it had been real or was he a figment of imagination until he looked down and saw the parcel wrapped in green leaves. In the state of uncertainty, he reached over curiously and touched the green leaves. It was to his amazement when the leaves parted to reveal, a papered tightly rolled in a bundle was something that seemed like dead grass, he looked around to be sure that he was still present in reality. The parcel reminded him of the evil things his grandmother warned him about, he had heard stories of people who tried to make this their master and lost themselves in the process, but he was sure that this could not happen to him, as he had lost everything already. The homeless man reached over, carefully lifted the item, examined it with the eyes of a man, who had lived a life that has experienced loss, he wrestled within himself and the memory of his grandmother about whether he should discard this item or try it to prove he was actually different than everyone else, as this decision he thought, was a moment whether he would move forward or remain stagnant.
This parcel was the type of thing that men spent all their money on, persons lost their freedom over, and entire government systems were set up to prevent its distribution. It was in this moment he knew the universe had given him the opportunity to have it, to use, to make it his. It was this moment he would use it to then prove he was different than all the others and he would master it. He knew he could, he would show her, he would show his grandmother she was wrong.
He hurriedly searched his meager possessions to retrieve his source of heat and hid even further within his cloak, hiding his treasure from the world, from those unworthy to have it, the universe chose him, and he was determined to prove that he was worthy of the choice.
As he deeply inhaled the smoke of the marijuana joint, he found himself face to face with his grandmother, who’d been dead for about 5 years prior. He squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye as he proudly proclaimed, ‘look, grandma, I did it, me, I was the one to master the weed’. He was surprised when she shook her head and looked at him with the saddest eyes he had ever seen. She said ‘my child, things are not as they seem, for you did not master it. The joint you lit was laced with rat poison, we can finally talk about this because you too have died and joined me in the afterlife’. This was his last lucid thought even as the coroner’s men lifted his lifeless body from the cold pavement.