Every splash of water felt like a thousand tiny, perfect mouths raining kisses on Starolf's body, and the mud beneath his feet oozed exquisitely underneath his toenails, between his toes, and swirled like satin around his ankles, and the pondscum that slid around his body was stardust and sapphires, and the minnows that darted curiously between his legs were naked mermaids, and their slimey fish-tails brushing his thighs were silvery strands of sirens' lush and sea-green hair, and the golden sheen of the sunlight sparkled wetly on his arm and set his whole torso on fire, and the frogs shone like diamonds and the water throbbed like ecstasy and the air, and the sky, and his fingers and his eyelids, and, and, and...
Incapacitated? No, not at all. Starolf was only the happiest man in the world.
The first rush faded with achingly sweet throbs and left Starolf warm, sensitive, and tingling all over, but now able to push away the distracting beauty and rhapsodic texture of the outside world and actually focus his thoughts on a target.
But what target? Starolf, always a strong swimmer, floated lazily in the water and pondered: what, out of all the things in the world, did he want most right now? It was a hard choice, but not because of the over-abundance in the world of things Starolf could want; instead, it was difficult because he was so happy now, right in this moment, that he could scarcely imagine anything that could add to his mood.
Another hit? No, the answer drifted languorously from the depths of his mind. This lazy, hazy period between the first rush and the climax of the hit was perfect. Add any other chemicals and Starolf knew that the magic of the moment would dissipate. Music? No, not that either; the leopard frogs' croaking and the very distant noise of the city were as perfect as the drug. What, then? Anything?
"Of course!" Starolf suddenly said aloud. His voice, to him, sounded like a solid, a million granules of something sweeter than sugar, pouring into his world from a great distance, and for a moment Starolf could not help giggling and saying a few nonsense words to experiment.
But he was soon back to business. Company, of course, was the only other thing he could ask for. Drugs had to be shared. A woman, or a man, or a lot of women, or a lot of men, or a lot of men and women together. That last would be best, Starolf thought dreamily. All here in the pond, all naked like innocent babies, all wet and sparkling and golden in the sun, just like that -- that -- "Yeaarrgh!" Starolf shouted, and all thought of an afternoon orgy in the water vanished as he caught sight of the huge cat watching him ominously from the bank.
He splashed out of the water, almost falling on his face but not quite, then dove for the knife that lay beside his belt -- not a nearly long enough knife, but at least he'd be able to get a scratch on the brute before he died. Despite his pounding heart and trembling hands, everything still moved in slow, exquisitely beautiful motion, and each glimmer of the water snatched his attention in spite of his brain screaming "Get out! Get out! Get out, you fool!"
"Get out!" he yelled at the beast, wavering unsteadily on his bare feet, still glancing unintentionally at the beautiful, beautiful -- Stop it! "Why are you so close to the city anyway! Why are you bothering me! Stupid, mesmerizing, colourful--argh! Plain stupid cat! Go home! Go eat someone your own--" Realizing he was the cat's size, in fact he was a fair bit larger, he amended that last sentence. "Go eat someone smaller!"
The panic came from a distance away, like his voice, and seemed to trickle very, very slowly into his head; besides, Starolf was never one for worrying anyway. The combination of drugs, cocksuredness, and sheer terror produced a shaking, yelling, red-faced man standing naked on the bank and waving a pitifully small knife at a monstrous cat that, though Starolf did not notice, did not seem to care at all.
((Is it just me, or does this have a lot of sexual symbolism? o.O Maybe it's just an English major thing...))
