Ataraxia

 He exhaled slowly as his head lulled against the back of the sofa. Smoke danced in ribbons until it joined the hazy fog gathering about him. Somewhere in the distance, someone was laughing. Somewhere in the distance, someone was fucking. It all sounded the same to him.

His eyes opened slightly and the world was alive. Textures had taste. A nearby fire flickered on the wood and it settled like smoked honey on his tongue. His nearby mug of half drunken spirits still had residual powder slopped up the sides of the glass. He fumbled in his breast pocket for another capsule to break open. The world wasn’t spinning. He reached forward with the pill between his fingers and his head fell back as his eyes closed again. The drug fell to the floor and stayed at his feet.

He felt weightless and impossibly heavy. Immeasurable comforting pressure was holding him against the velvety embrace of this tavern sofa. His cigarette lay forgotten in a forgotten hand. Someone was asking him to play for them. His eyes opened without focus. Golden eyes dilated large as he smiled and won the crowd with his charm. He felt the cigarette pulled from his grasp. The touch was stale chocolate and promises he had yet to make.

Someone handed him his violin. He ran the bow across the strings not fully aware of the sounds he was creating. It was haunting and beautiful. The best he had ever played. He winked at the crowd before taking a drag. 

“Thirst-y”

He heard his mug scrape the glass as it was pulled away and refilled. Honey, yeast, he drank it all and then swallowed another pill. His body got warm and he let go of all inhibitions - all stress. He kicked off a shoe and dig his toes into the stone to keep the world stable before he passed out in stasis.