There’s an obscure fact about cannabis, largely - and perhaps luckily - overlooked by medical science as it only applies to a miniscule ratio of small children, during a certain growth phase. I was smoking outside a nearby daycare center when, two days later, the police payed me a visit regarding the prevalence of drug abuse in our neighborhood. I performed a puzzled gesture, venturing to abate any potential signs of intoxication or, for that matter, involvement. As I only later learned, but then could quite confidently guess, there was no suspicion directed towards me in person but only a routine check. After all I belonged to the target group of men between fifteen and twenty-five of age. Following a slew of misguided questions, they gave me some spare intel, apparently presuming I wouldn’t make much of it - but I did. It was two in the afternoon when the greetings of an employee at said daycare center provided my required invitation upon me passing by on the way. Casually I brought to mention the little tidbits I knew about the recent events at the daycare center; how, allegedly and quite plausibly, some rascals had been making noise and trashing the place big time, to the dismay of children, parents and employees alike, necessitating police intervention. Curiously I was told that was not the case at all. Rather, an unusual condition had suddenly afflicted several children. In whispery words, they had inhaled some toxic fumes, but dared I tell anybody. I had no reason to tell anybody. That’s exuded somehow. The lass at the kids place worried about some outlawed radiant mineral present in the house, about being forced to shut down by authorities and losing her income and lying forgotten in bed looking at her clearly silhouetted ribcage, looking at bills, oblivious to time of day or season, to the current lives of her former friends, to the notion of progress. I was thinking it’s quite cool to have smoke poisoning little people. I read they researched this correlation briefly, way back when pot was legal and trialed as pharmaceutical substance. A few toddlers are hypersensitive to cannabinoids. Some gland develops late so they produce little of the natural neurotransmitters that would have frequented corresponding receptors. If the drug enters their system, in however minute quantities, a disease ensues. Naturally it was concluded that cannabis is inappropriate for children and those trials were cancelled immediately, leaving the disease itself unexamined.

Fuelled by a comforting lust to expand my knowledge, I purchased the finest weed money can get you, rolled a giant and went to smoke just outside again. In the giant it was only weed, no tobacco and I puffed immensely, with dedication. Next thing the newspaper, this trite narrative device, alerted me of my success. Yes, the kids were different somehow. No emotional rapport. Drained. Anemic. One of them opened the eye and stared straight into the camera so that fear overwhelmed me, for it was menacing and it sought my subservience. Fully settled, I declared to extinguish these children to prevent their hellish rule, of which I had seen ample proof.

I went to bed glowing with the prospect of retaliation. I woke up, and I had a cotton mouth still from the weed of the night before. There was a hard-on, an indoor breeze of courage. I did nothing, I just went out and got to the hospital. The lady behind the desk said for me to state my name and business, although she did it in a polite manner of course. People need money and if you can get paid for being nice, most people will do that regardless of whether they really are nice - so the hospital can pick and choose among many people with a knack for superficial tact, and they don’t need to hand out big salaries for that, just a normal salary. Anyway she made me feel a bit suppressed and I had not expected this. She should attend to me, not obstruct my way or test me somehow. Situation called for a special treatment, I reckoned, so I said in a grave dreary tone of voice to look out for me because I’ve got a plan or such things. When I said this I was pointing, frowning, I had a moustache. It wasn’t perfect but it stalled her. I went to see the kids. The doctor looked up, puzzled. My countenance fierce and relentless, I pushed him out of the way and could see the kid with the evil eyes with my own eyes, finally. The other ones all gazed contently like the air was matter. I knew air was empty space. Fuck you monsters I said and held him with my hands and began shoving my thick abrasive fingers into the shaft of his throat. There should be none of these, I said as I strangled him. The doctor was observing but too stunned, by disbelief and sheer awe, to react. The kid gargled his words: ”you should know better than to violate the lives of those unable to fend for themselves”. Odd words, seemingly irreconcilable with the once innocent demeanor and appearance of the poor shit. Also they were ugly and I wanted to despise them but couldn’t as I was taken by their symbolic saturation. For a moment I stopped to consider their referential wealth. Then I dismissed them as strained melodrama, continuing my slaughter, renewing it with exponential power; I pulled forth my dick and let it slide alongside the hospital bed. It went stiff and loaded to the brim with potential destruction. Meanwhile the hands were into his neck still, pushing - but as I exposed him and slided my dick inside him the hands diminished their pressure, allowing him some degree of perceptive awareness. Only fair since the dick would make him suffer.