Date: Friday the 13th
Time: 2 AM
A coughing fit wakes me from my slumber. I don’t know how long I’ve been out but a resinous dark film has covered my lungs, this same sticky substance has covered the planet. I shuffle to the warmth of the oven, hoping that its heat will fully wake me.
The tendrils of toxic dark matter (resin) scratch upon the nails of my feet, an intense dread fills the pit of my stomach, will I survive this Halloween?
The fear of laughing is called geliphobia. The old tales tell of a sacred herb that can cure me of this infection of resin, already it has spread to my leg. I leave a trail of putrid decomposition in my search for a cure. Its too late…Its too late….Its too late… I find an old medicine bag with a glass dram labeled *Ghost OG*. I’m not a superstitious man, all the rituals failed my clan as they tried to protect themselves against the all-consuming dark resin. They failed….will I fail as well?
My hands are shaking. I strike a match to ignite a makeshift torch of hemp, with an orange glow I see that the sickness has now made its way to my arms. The noxious fumes of sulfuric resin are now inescapable to the nose. The fear of having a bad odor is called autodysomophobia. I mustn’t waste any more time, its now or never, I ignite the sacred ganja. The flame flirts with the green herb, then consumes its green leaves. It flows through the orange trichomes of the bud, like water over smooth pebbles, I inhale the Ghost OG (as the flame has activated its hidden cures).
The zest of acidic lime infused rice paper greets my palate, the sublime subtle taste stimulates a dream-like blissful wave of peace. My infection forgotten, the Ghost OG is already hard at work. I feel it along the back of my neck, a cooling otherworldly breeze causes the hairs to rise. My feet are cold. I look down to see that Ghost OG’s lime color (with the hues of rust) has replaced the infected black resin, could I be healed?
Fear of sugar is called saccharophobia. I take another pull of the burning Ghost OG, the flavor of timber and butter paint my taste buds. Is the Ghost OG that ephemeral? How can it be that the lime-rice paper flavor comes from the same ganja that produces a buttery timber taste? I don’t know, but its complexities are not mine to debate
It has revived me from my dream-induced sickness, awaken I return the Ghost OG’s remaining flower to the glass jar. It was passed on to me, and now I must find another to pass it onto. If you feel coated in negativity (dark matter/ resin), come to Fosteropia! It is the land liberated of sickness, filled with the smooth butter, and acidic lime, aroma of Ghost OG.