Francis, Chaja Jamie Marie

Francis By Chaja Jamie Marie

“Look, I know you aren’t happy with your life right now, but you’re an addict Francis. I can't keep watching you waste away in front of me.”

Francis slowly opened their eyes gazing at their disheveled boyfriend—or rather ex-boyfriend— pacing around his flat, shaking his hands as if he were ringing the guilt out of them. “Look, I don't want to do this, a-and you probably don’t know what I’m saying cause you’re clearly out of it, but you have to leave.” Francis watched as he walked toward the front door and opened it, a triplaction of him following his every move, each one cast in a purple and blue, each version staring Francis down as the tension visibly thickened.

As Francis rose to their feet—which were pointing in two different directions—their ex-boyfriend, whose name they couldn’t remember for the life of them till it floated above his head in a red hot wispy cloud of smoke, continued to ramble on about Francis’ bad habits. They had surprised themselves, falling for someone named “Matthew.’’

“Acid. All you ever do is drop acid,” he shouted. “I had to basically feed you while you were in your own little world! A world that doesn’t make sense. All you ever do is take acid and trip out. How do you think that makes me feel, Francis? How do you think I feel? What about me Francis!”

Francis wasn’t affected by the sudden screaming, they had gotten used to it ever since they started doing acid.

“You’re not even listening! You know what, get out of my apartment.”

Last time Francis checked, they paid rent there too.

Apparently Francis hadn’t reacted fast enough cause now Matthew's hands were on their shoulders and the front door seemed to be floating closer and closer until it engulfed Francis and everything was peach color and bland. They felt sick, everything was so devoid of life and all Francis could hear were harsh screams and saw creatures trapped behind the walls, clawing their way out.

Francis scurried to the exit in fear. Of course they had bad trips once in a while, but not like this. Never like this.

Where’s the exit? Where’d it go?

Why is there just a drawing of a door in green chalk? What’s happening? I’m so confused. Wait.

“I? Who am I?

I’m watching Francis, so who am I, what am I? Where’s Francis? Am I Francis?

No, no, no, no! I’m me, who are you? Why is t-the voice so loud!” Francis shrieked and ran like never before. Running away from a strange voice inside their head and through a door that had just appeared there, maybe it was always there. Maybe it wasn’t.

Francis ran and ran and ran, their arms flailing at their sides but when they looked down their legs weren’t moving, they were sweating and they were moving but their legs looked planted to the floor. They tried to do what felt like stopping but the walls and doors continued to fly past, some turning into weird shapes. Francis tried to make them out but their vision was blurry and… red? A red hue covered almost everything they laid their eyes upon, the doors stopped coming and letters floated around their head.

“B… A… L… D?” Francis muttered, their hand reaching up to touch their head, all their hair was there, the brown 4c coils still in their place. Francis brought their hand back down feeling reassured till they saw it.

A hefty amount of hair laid in the palm of their hand, is slid down, getting sucked into a growing black hole. Francis stood there in horror as they felt clump after clump of hair fall down their face and dance, as they disappeared into the abyss.

“Sink.’’ A voice that sounded akin to Mathews whispered to a now sobbing Francis. Screaming and crying and wanting this trip to end, they couldn’t care less where they ended up when it was all over they just wanted it to stop now.

The quicksand beneath their feet sucked them in deeper, rubbing harshly at their skin and getting stuck under their nails. Its coarse texture rubbed their dark skin raw. They sunk down to their torso, desperately trying to grasp onto anything solid to pull them back up. It was no use, their fingertips had elongated, twisted and sprouted, turning into a small forest of flowers and mushrooms which were trailing up their arms. They closed their eyes.

They were engulfed.

The falling feeling wasn’t unknown to them, they’d gone through it with other trips, but this was different. The feeling of falling indefinitely for only a few seconds. Only a few seconds until they landed and were met face to face with themselves. Staring back at them was their reflection in what seemed to be Matthew's bathroom. It all looked exactly the same.

Francis smiled shakily to themself in the mirror, taking in the look of their tiny afro perched back on their head. Thinking the worst of the trip was behind them, they attempted to splash their face with some cold water.

“Don’t.”

Francis whimpered, looking up at their reflection, which was staring at them with a kind of rage and disgust. It flicked its wrist towards the running tap. “Off,” it said. Francis complied slowly, turning the tap off and looking at their reflection, tears welling up in their eyes.

The reflection held Francis's gaze, it gestured for them to come closer.

Wait, wait, wait. I don’t know who I am, but please, please, please just let me go! Please, I’m begging you! Francis, listen!

Shaking their head at the person in the mirror, Francis let their feet move on their own, dragging themself closer to the mirror. Abruptly Francis was grabbed by the neck and was smashed into the mirror. They fell back with a scream, their forehead leaking blood colored blue.

The bathroom door rattled with such a ferocity, such anger, the glass shards from the mirror rose up, showing Francis their blooded form, only there was a different background. Behind Francis were people dancing and drinking, there were lights and it was getting loud, so loud. Their heart was beating so hard it hurt to move, all they could do was close their eyes and fall back.

The falling feeling returned, it lasted for hours. Francis felt their body age years while they fell and again, they couldn’t care where they landed, as long as all this ended.

They felt cushioned.

They slowly peeled open their eyes to find themselves on the couch. In Matthew's arms, in their apartment. With him gently wiping off foam from their mouth, whispering softly, rocking them back and forth.

And Francis knew them. They were never going to touch another acid tab again.