A single bottle of green apple flavored Gatorade was the only thing that littered the thick glass coffee table in Lily's small house. It wasn't<span style="font-style: italic">technically</span>the only thing on the table, but that's the funny thing about acid: it makes your perception of reality funny. She hadn't taken a drink of it yet. She had tried, mind you, but when she had bought it from the convenience store across the street and twisted the lid to break the seal, she caught the light reflecting and refracting through the semi transparent green liquid, making it glow in a magnificent way. She had immediately closed the bottle and put it under her light off-brand black and grey jacket like it was some treasure that she didn't want anyone else to have. She ran back across the street and threw open her front door, slamming it shut behind her and holding the majestic bottle up to the dim halogen bulbs that tried to light up the living room, holding it up with both hands and just admiring its simple beauty.<br/><br/>Her initial response was to find a box to put it in and send it to someone else who could truly appreciate its beauty. People had to know about this magical occurrence. But who? Who could truly appreciate this eighth world wonder? Certainly not her neighbors, with their loud dogs and louder children and loud everything. They couldn't appreciate the beauty of silence, let alone the beauty of Gatorade.<br/><br/>She cradled the bottle close to her chest; it had to be protected. Who would understand it? The president? Maybe she should send it to the president. What was the address again? 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, she just vaguely remembered that. What was the zip code, though? Oh, fuck it. He doesn't even open his own mail and the secret service certainly wouldn't understand its importance. She sat it carefully on her glass coffee table, next to a plastic baggie containing a few more tabs of acid, another couple of plastic baggies containing some weed, and a glass bong that was almost as nice to look at as the Gatorade, but not quite. Funny enough though, in her warped perception of reality, the only thing that was on the table was the bottle of light green liquid. In fact, the only thing in the room at all was the bottle. She wasn't even sure what she was sitting on, considering there was no furniture in the room either. All that was there was the bottle, and all that mattered was the bottle.<br/><br/>She ended up throwing it away.<br/><br/>Lily returned to her seat on the invisible couch. She knew that there had been a couch there at one point, but if it was there now she wasn't registering it. She was definitely sitting on something though. Maybe the ghost of the couch? Did couches even have ghosts? Probably. Someone probably stole her couch and killed it, and left its ghost here to be tormented by her butt. How awful. She leaned back in the ghost couch and let herself sink into its cushions, until it started taking her in like quicksand. She panicked and sat back up, straight as a ruler, and patiently waited. She wasn't sure who or what she was waiting on. Probably her best friend. He wasn't due to come over any time soon. In fact he wasn't due to come over at all, he just kind of did, and she did the same with his place. There were always some sort of arrivals and departures between the two of them.<br/><br/>She couldn't be sure, but she might have been vocalizing her entire thought process to her ball-python Baozi, who was coiled as elegantly as ever in his heated cage. That goddamn rubbernecker.<span style="font-style: italic">Mind your own business, asshole. People have been killed for less than rubbernecking, I'll tell you that much right fucking now.</span>She gave her snake one last dirty look, to which she only got the response of a snubbish tongue flick, and threw herself back into the invisible quicksand couch where she patiently waited for something. Literally anything.