A Renaissance Nightmare
You find the only secluded spot nearby to pack a bowl in privacy. You take out your white lighter, and watch the green transform into a bright orange and then fade into a dark brown. Before you can take a second hit, however, a cold metallic hand comes down hard on your shoulder. You turn around to face the owner of the hand. Oh shit! It’s one of the knights. “Smoking isn’t allowed at the festival,” is all he says, and he pulls out a ragged brown rope to constrain your arms with. As he grabs your arms, the pipe goes tumbling down to the ground along with your white lighter. You beg with the man. You promise you will never smoke again. You apologize profusely. But the knight remains as silent and cold as the steel on his back.
You arrive at a stage surrounded by a mob of about fifty people. Many of them are toothless, and their clothes are all stained from dirt. A woman with one front tooth and grey hair that sticks out horizontally from her head shout, “Death to stoners!” You look over and notice that the knight is leading you to a guillotine. He shoves your head onto a wooden supporter. You have just enough time to whimper. The blade comes down quickly, and slices your head clean off of your body. Your head lands on its side on the stage, and you look out to see the woman’s tooth, bright and yellow, illuminating out of a giant grin.
You arrive at a stage surrounded by a mob of about fifty people. Many of them are toothless, and their clothes are all stained from dirt. A woman with one front tooth and grey hair that sticks out horizontally from her head shout, “Death to stoners!” You look over and notice that the knight is leading you to a guillotine. He shoves your head onto a wooden supporter. You have just enough time to whimper. The blade comes down quickly, and slices your head clean off of your body. Your head lands on its side on the stage, and you look out to see the woman’s tooth, bright and yellow, illuminating out of a giant grin.
