Amethyst. It had started out as a joke, something stupid to be discarded. An idea birthed from nights of excess drink and deficient thought. It should had stayed a bad piece of wordplay. The joke had been along the lines of a shower-thought, something about the potentiality of snorting crystals the same way you’d snort crystal meth, if crushed down into fine powder.

In the multimedia player of his mind, Rohan played the scenario out uncompressed and unfiltered: mortar and pestle - a single amethyst crystal - eminence quartz ground against pestle and polished bowl - shades of scarlet and azure mix and blend over a lengthy timelapse - excruciatingly manual - broken down fine – lined straight with razor-blades – rolled up twenties – polymer over paper.  

Prepped, all had gone as intended. Rohan completed his first and only line of amethyst. 8.5cm long by 0.3cm wide. Deep inhale – Irritated cartilage – coughing fit. He’d lined up some tourmaline, kunzite and rose quartz to try, should the kick…lack. They wouldn’t see use. Rohan, laid back on his couch, eyes lids heavy, tongue dry. He necked the remainder of his Coors light and stared off to the ceiling waiting for the rush.