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My story or when it started

#1

It was a quiet night. The deeds of the day all sorted through and in the past. Nothing left but his favorite past time: a loaded bowl, familiar music, and a spark to kick it off.
He took his first hit and rolled his head back. Holding his breath carefully, waiting for maximum absorption. His head rolls forward.
He exhales.
He looks around. He’s all alone. It’s a familiar and comfortable loneliness. One accompanied by a fresh buzz.
He takes his second hit, as careful as the first. Trying to maximize the efficiency of his consumption. Pie piecing his way, he finishes the bowl.
Again his head rolls back. Stress begins to vaporize. He cracks a smile.
Then something different happened, the voices, they started coming in. It was as if someone was tuning a radio inside his head. He could hear someone, ranting about him. Tyrannically as If they were struck with an obsessive madness.
He eventually sobered up, the voices stopped.
It wasn’t long though, until he smoked again. The voices came back. It was his mother, his coworker, an unknown presence. He was a fool. He thought he’d stumbled into telepathy. To his dismay something else entirely was starting to happen. He was inducing his own state of Schizophrenia.
At work he was too concerned with the thoughts of others. He wished he could read their minds. Thought if he tried he might be able to. And so it began.
Through the fog of the ether, he could hear the voices.

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