SYMPTOMS OF A PSYCHEDELIC

By Kimberly R. Espiritu and Peter John E. Bacomo

It was a dream. Yes, a dream. I sit and breathe in on top of my lungs. It was like
the kind of breath that I have never breathed before. I checked around my alarm clock to
see the time. It was 3:30 in the morning and I guess it is too early for me to start my day.
I tried to sleep and again, the dream repeated, when I woke up it’s 7:00 in the morning.
Yeah, right. I’m already late.

“Sweetie, are you up there? Dear, you’re late,” shouted my mom as she knocked the door
gently.

“Yes, mom. I’ll be there a bit.”

I rushed into the bathroom to give myself a quick bath and dashed myself into the school.

School was a little boring for me. Like any average student, I’m the type of
student who would just sit down and listen to my teachers throughout the entire day. I can
even last a day without talking. Seriously, I find my teachers boring because I believe
that there are no boring subjects, just boring teachers. But whatever I thought about them
is not in general, besides it is just my opinion.

“Ms. Pearson, you seem pretty pre-occupied these days.”

“Pardon sir?” I asked astonishingly.

“Who is the author of the Nun’s Priest’s tale?” says Mr. Spencer in a firm voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir.”

“Summer, It’s Geoffrey Chaucer,” whispered Allen, my seatmate.

“Uhm.. Geo.. Geoffrey Chaucer sir?” I answered in a guessing voice.

“Good. Next time, don’t be late. I won’t be accepting latecomers next meeting especially
those who are always daydreaming.” Mr. Spencer gave me a tough look. Luckily, the bell
rang and that gave me a deep sigh.

“By the way, thanks Allen.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. I’m just worried, why are you thinking deeply these days? Is there
a problem?”

“Oh, really? Am I thinking that much?”

“Yeah? Mr. Spencer asked you for the third time already, remember? Is there something
bothering you?”

I paused for a second, trying to recall something disenchanting. “Oh nothing, it’s just
because I woke up late. Haha...” I tried to giggle a little to conceal my real feelings.

“Are you sure? Then, I’m always here if you need someone to talk to. I’ll go home now,
you take care of yourself okay?

“Okay, thanks for the concern. Bye!” He bade goodbye and about to face the door.
Suddenly, I felt dizzy and I can feel my head as heavy as before.

“Allen!” I yelled startlingly.

“Yes?” He was a little bit shocked. “Summer, you look pale...” he said concerningly.

“Uhh... You have your grandmother with you?” I asked in a nervous voice.

“Yes and she bakes the best cookies you’ve never tasted before!” He answered in a quite
uncertain but proud voice. I guess he is figuring out why I asked an out-of-the-blue
question. To my surprise, I inconspicuously notice that my eyes are filled with tears.

“Allen, love your grandmother and take care of her very well.” I said advisingly.

“Uh, thanks?” He answered weirdly.

Allen Monroe is such a nice guy. We have known each other merely for 10 years
with the usual hi’s and hellos. He was one of my few friends who cares for me very
much. I started to wonder why I said such things to him. I really don’t think about
anything. It just slipped into my tongue. I walked straight into our house and sit down on
our porch. I was recalling what I saw in my conversation with Allen.

I saw an old woman. She was sleeping. I saw Allen waking her up. She was not
waking. She was not. She was. She. She died. I saw Allen’s face. His usual smiling face
glowed with lamentation. He is crying. I started to feel an intense tremor inside. I was
horrified with what I saw. I don’t want to experience it again. Am I cursed? Is that true?
What if it really happened? What will I tell Allen? I was shaking. I have no one to talk to.
I wanted to cry, to burst for tears. Why is this happening to me?

I remember my parents. They are separated. I used to have a twin. Her name was
Winter. While we are playing in a nearby lake, I saw with my vision that she was going
to drown. I cried and yelled, I called my father. I said to him that Winter was going to
drown, he was stunned and ran to see if Winter was really drowning. She saw Winter
waddling her feet on the lake. She was smiling sweetly. To his relief, he got back and
scolded me for what I have told him. As he was scolding me, a shrill was heard from afar.
It was Winter and she is drowning! My father rescued her but she is not waking up
anymore. She died. My father blamed me for everything. He thought that I was a member
of some cult-creating-havoc. He decided to leave us and I grew weirder than ever.

It was a dream. Yes, a dream. I sit and breathe in on top of my lungs. It was like
the kind of breath that I have never breathed before. I checked around my alarm clock to
see the time. It was 3:30 in the morning and I guess it is too early for me to start my day.
I tried to sleep and again, the dream repeated when I woke up it’s 7:00 in the morning.
Yeah, right. I’m already late.

As I walked into the classroom, I noticed Allen. He was staring blankly. His eyes
have no more tears to cry. He stared at me, I tried to stay away from his stare because I
can feel the guilt creeping on me. There was nowhere I can hide. I have no choice but to
sit beside him. Silence savored in the air. There was nothing but serenity. I was
dumbfounded to ask what happened yesterday.

“Allen?”

“Summer, my grandmother is dead. And it’s your fault! She is the only one left for me.
She is my family.”

“Allen, it’s not what you think it is...”

“No Summer, are you some kind of a cult? You let my grandmother die. If you knew it
earlier, you should stop it immediately. But no, you didn’t, you let her die!” His eyes
drenching with frustrated tears.

I ran away as fast as I could. I cried and cried and felt paranoia all around me. I
sat down and got tired of all the crying and the running. It was a dream. Yes, a dream. I
sit and breathe in on top of my lungs. It was like the kind of breath that I have never
breathed before. And now, I can finally see a clear picture of my dream. It was me. I was
my own nightmare. And I saw a vision. I died. The next thing I knew I killed myself to
escape grudges.

It was not a dream. No, it was. It was not a gift. It was a curse.