The War on the War on Drugs
Intellectuals partake while discussing the history of drugs.
Rice Pillar looked at the vaporizer with liquid cocaine in it. He took other drugs that fought his addiction to the first drug. He sat around other professors who exhaled marijuana from vaporizers as well.
“This stuff wasn’t legal for adults. Now, we have heroin, coke, weed, and every scheduled drug off of the criminality list. I’d like to say that’s progress.”
“The whole world, too,” Suzanna Kohlerton observed. “America is usually the first to do it and the world follows. Except for the prohibition of alcohol. Countries laughed at us for that.”
“The way we do things is curious.”
About the Creator
Skyler Saunders
Cash App: $SkylerSaunders1
PayPal: paypal.me/SkylerSaunders
Join Skyler’s 100 Club by contributing $100 a month to the page. Thank you!
Keep reading
More stories from Skyler Saunders and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Don’t Write Them Down as Arrogant
Strong. Steady. The Admiral of a fleet of six hundred thousand sailors and Marines, this man did not have to lean on his color. Admiral Dodson Bickerman stood also as the Chief of Staff to United States President Haddish Cormac.
By Skyler Saunders11 months ago in Fiction
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson2 days ago in Fiction
Stars Protector
The evening of my sister's death anniversary was painted with the melancholy hues of a vermilion sky flecked with gold. Low clouds, heavy with the weight of impending rain, rolled over the cityscape, casting a somber glow over everything. The air was crisp, carrying the sharp scent of winter pine that seemed to stab at my lungs with every breath. The pain was a tangible thing, a constant reminder of my loss, but even that was better than the numbing emptiness that threatened to consume me.
By Arshad Mecciabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.