Audiophilia

The guy who sold me the pills was pretty adamant about how potent the effect was.

“Listen, man,” he said, his voice scratching like broken glass across rough asphalt. “You take one of these--not two, just one--and you just sit back, and you listen to the music, and I guarantee that what you see is gonna blow your mind.”

That’s what caught my attention. I probably listened to nine hours of music each day, but I’d never seen it before.

The twenty bucks I handed him got me three pills. He warned me again about taking too many, assuring me that one was amazing, but more than one could have consequences, and he didn’t need anyone tracing any dead men to him. The warning seemed clear enough to me, so I smiled and headed back to my apartment.

As soon as I got home, I locked the front door and walked to the kitchen, setting the three white-and-blue pills down on the counter. I opened the refrigerator, but then closed it again. I was hungry, but a little nervous about eating something right before taking this mystery drug. Nobody wants their epitaph to mention how they choked to death on their own vomit.

Instead, I filled a glass with tap-water, grabbed one of the pills off the counter, and headed into the living room. This is where I kept it; my CD shelf, the greatest collection of music ever assembled in one small space.

As art, people will always disagree about the best song, best musician, best album of all time...but in my apartment, in my domain? This was the best collection.

I ran my fingers over the spines of the albums on the second shelf, knowing precisely which album I was after, and I found it quickly. The CD slid out almost too easy, the case getting loose with age and use.

I slid the CD into the stereo and selected the song, a twenty-four minute progressive-metal piece that never failed to sweep me to another land without the use of any drug. As the first few notes drifted through the air, I sat down in my favorite recliner and examined the pill. I didn’t know how long it would take to work, or how effective it would really be, but I’d soon find out.

With one gulp of water, the little pill disappeared. I squinted against the setting sun, its rays shining through the window that I often watched the city from. It would be night soon enough, and the blinding beams would leave me alone. This was the worst time of the day to sit in this chair, for that reason.

I closed my eyes as the song began. I was listening for something, though I couldn’t quite tell what it was I was listening for. This drug was supposed to enhance the music, but I didn’t hear anything.

I must have drifted off, because I startled myself awake about four minutes into the song, just after the intro. When I opened my eyes, it was like I’d been asleep all night, the light streaming through the window twisting as if my eyes were watering, or had something in them.

I pressed my palms into my eyes and rubbed, hard, trying to clear my vision, but when I opened them again, the light was still twisting. It was clear, but moving slow, in perfect time to the melodic vocals of the song. The rays bent, the brightness becoming three dimensional as it spread across the landscape of my living room.

I watched in awe as the song progressed. I could still hear it, but the sensation of watching it play out in front of me was so astonishing that the music felt tinny, hollow. The experience had become about the elaborate dance before me, the warm rays getting closer and closer to me as the song built to crescendo.

I could feel my face getting warm as the music continued. I recognized the tune, not by the sound, but by the shape. How could my mind possibly know the shape of the sound, I’ll never know, but I did.The light had been growing in intensity throughout, and as the guitars wailed in escalation, I finally had to turn my face away. The beauty was too much, and it hurt to look at it.

But even with my face turned, the light followed. It had permeated the room, my vision, everything. I squeezed my eyes closed, begging for reprieve, but found none, as the bright rays cut through the thin lids of my eyes. I had to do something to block the burning light! My mind screamed in protest as my face continued to burn, getting hotter and hotter.

I pressed my hands over my eyes again, unable to tell how hot my skin was because my palms felt like they were burning as well. With my right hand on the recliner to steady myself, I lowered my head, blocking my eyes with the back of my left hand to keep that infernal light away.

The heat continued, but as there was a subtle shift in tone--past the crescendo, we were into the final break now--the sensation on my skin changed along with the music. Where fire had been moments ago, now I just felt…

...wet.

I was afraid to open my eyes until the song ended, but the new sensation cooled me quickly. As the heat faded with the final refrain, I opened my eyes. The light of the sun had faded from the window. Still, the wet feeling remained, coating my face and hand.

As my eyes adjusted to the twilight, I turned my hand over to find blood slowly but steadily pooling in my palm. Was this another hallucination?

I staggered to my feet and managed to get to the stereo before the next song started. Afraid of what I might hear, or see, I crept cautiously and noiselessly to the bathroom. I stumbled in the darkness, catching myself against the wall as I stepped through the door, and my hand slid along the wall, surprising me with how slippery it was.

I flicked the light on to study myself in the mirror. Streams of crimson ran down from my bloodshot eyes, tracing jagged trails that escaped from the red streaks left by my hand. In the reflection, I saw the thick smear where my blood-soaked hand had defaced the wall.

That guy was right about only taking one of those things.