They were all there that morning; worried. I felt trapped inside my mind—there were so many things I wanted to say, and I didn't know why I couldn't. I was thinking slower. I was disorientated, but glad because my last night hallucinations were already over, and I was thankful for having been taken care of.

"Eleven hours?" I asked—raspy voice, blurry all around me, and with traces of that melody still in my head.

"Yes. We managed to feed you one smoothie, but we suppose you're starving," Owen replied, with something unusual in his voice.

"That's not quite your timbre," I whispered, then fell asleep again.

This time I slept for four hours. They fed me another smoothie and helped me drink a lot of water. By the time I open my eyes, I felt a rush of happiness when I realised the effects of the cannabis had entirely vanished, and how I'd recovered my brain functions. I was able to speak again and think faster—as fast as it could be expected from me, of course. My friends were playing Dungeons and Dragons next to my bed, and they all hoorayed when they saw me sitting on the mattress.

"You survived an acute cannabis intoxication! Roll a die and level up, pussy,” they laughed out loud and hoorayed again. “Shame on you. We thought you would have the Strength, or… wait, what stat does someone needs to level up in case of a cannabis intoxication? Willpower?"

"You know the problem wasn't the weed but the LSD," my brother interrupted, angry. "Never doing that shit again, deal?”

"Deal," they all chanted.

I was staring at them like a madman, my hands clasped to the sheets. They all looked strange. The room was different.

"My room..." I started but got interrupted.

"Yes, we cleaned it. You're welcome," they said.

"No... Where... are we?"

"In... your room?" my brother answered questioning me, and they all got nervous.

Name, family members, friends, the president... they asked everything they could to see if I was suffering from some kind of amnesia, and by the time they were feeling better, I failed one question.

"The date? Well... I don't know the date because I don't know how much I slept..."

"Oh, of course!" and there was a brief relief from everyone. Then, "Which year?"

"2011," I answered. They were freaking out again, asking if I was joking. 

"You just fucking linked to your first trip!?" They screamed.

Did I remember this, did I remember that? I didn't know what was happening, they were all yelling at the same time. Then my brother interrupted.

"Stop, he's having an anxiety attack!" he said, and they stared at me, completely still. Then they slowly questioned me about the last thing I recalled.

I told them about the party and my bad trip, and after a moment of silence they told me such was from three years ago. I was coming back from a bad trip, yes, but a newer one. Apparently, we were at the flat we'd been renting together—in another city, six hours away from the place where we celebrated my eighteenth birthday. Last night we were celebrating my twenty-first.

“We moved together. You’ve been studying music here, remember that? You had a concert not so long ago, directing your own pieces played by a string quartet. And that girl, the girl from the dance academy—she was there and you asked her out. You two are going out this weekend. C’mon, man! We all study nearby. We all pay the expenses. We are going to watch a movie tonight… Oh! Do you remember what did you say last night? That you haven’t seen… Yes, yes! Remember! You haven’t seen…?”

"Uhm... The Green Hornet?"

"What? No... The Hobbit. The Desolation of Smaug."

Ok, it wasn't because I was very shocked by that in particular, I just assume it had to happen, so it finally did: It felt like a distant pop—kind of a relief, actually. Very pleasant... 

I dropped dead from a stroke.

Growls, cold, pain, snowflakes, gasps, yeah, yeah... I woke up again and my friends were there freaking out, of course.

There was a melody in my head.