True story, only the names and events have been slightly and tastefully altered:
Darkness had washed over the mountain side, and I, along with my long-lost friend from Canada, two close confidants (stoners) and my significant other drove across it, listening to high powered tunes that sang "life's a bitch and then you die, that's why we get high, cuz you never know when you're gonna go!" To these rhythms we sparked a bowl and puffed away, shooting our deluded minds further across the universe. Unfortunately for me, my 'issues' were sparking up as well - it seems my heart has developed an intolerance to the good ol' green, and it chose this unfortunate night to remind me. So, as my friends rip roared joyously, I sat in catatonic despair, chewing my nails away and holding onto my chest for dear life (thank you, Hunter S. Thompson for your lovely lessons in vocabulary). That irregular beat kept pounding out of me, and true terror set it.
"Just look at all that sparkling shit," said Dalton, gazing over the twinkling lights of the city. "Now that's a view." They were all still passing the pipe, and even though I was slurping away at my life-saving Gatorade, the torrential beats wouldn't desist. Maybe it was because I kept taking hits on top of that beautiful red liquid. What really mattered was the fact that my paranoia and interspersed pain continued to grow until it was a juggernaut of fear, yanking the reins of my brain-damaged perception into total oblivion.
Everything was kind of ringing, and I looked over at my companions in slow motion, you know - the way your vision swerves around in that trippy manner when you're under the influence. "I feel kind of fizzly," I said, taking another sip of my drink. I don't think my friends heard me, because they continued their talk of politics and theory. 'Am I dying?' I pondered. 'Is this my heart's way of telling me that it's finally finished its job, and that it's tired of hauling my abusive ass around?' I had to do something about this or I was going to fall into a black abyss of decay [Hell].
When this sort of darkness grips my heart, I have this internal mantra shouting at me while I clutch my chest and feel that pump-pump-pump running around and driving me. It says things at bi-polar intervals like a child given far too much caffeine. "You're dead, man. You're not going to live through this, not a single drop longer." 'Drop?' I thought. 'What are you talking about?' "You expect me to know? I'm just a negative imp in your head, bro. Get a grip." 'How high am I?'
Jerry looked over at me. "Are you okay, Jake? You look pale," he said, showing signs of genuine concern in his mustachioed face.
"Yeah, man. I'm fine," I said, turning to face him.
"What?" he said, confused; then it hit me:
Jesus, did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me? - Thompson