Apathy Jack writes:
Shut The Door, by Amanda Marquit
He'd just wanted to have friends and partake in some slightly rebellious activities just for fun. I was stupid and I put the pressure on myself though. He'd smoked pot only a few times, and he had never experienced the supposedly euphoric dullness that seemed to intrigue his friends and be the focal point of countless social gatherings. Just the fucking paranoia all the time. Every time. But he'd felt guilty nonetheless, always under surveillance. Always returning home with an expression on his face that screamed, "I did it! I smoked a joint with three of my friends, and it was damned good. And I wanna do it again tomorrow." Even though less than half of that statement had been true.