Sneak Preview: My Untitled Work-In-Progress

I’m currently writing a novel for which I can’t think of a name that doesn’t sound dumb. Here’s the first chunk of it:

Jack eyed the needle, his stomach fluttering at the glint of the tip under the kitchen light. Bubbles disturbed the liquid’s surface tension as his friend expertly flicked the glass syringe. Shit, he thought. In order to administer a single shot his pediatrician had needed three nurses to pin his limbs to the table.

“Stephanie would kill me if she knew about this,” he said.

“Yeah, she’d flip her shit,” Alex replied. “Are you sure there’s no way she’s going to find out about it? No hidden cameras or anything?”

“My girlfriend is protective, not psychotic.”

“Just saying, man.” Alex looked up at Jack. “Come on, you have to make it tighter than that. I want to see those veins pop!” He chuckled to himself as he studied the opaque liquid through the glass of the syringe.

Jack gripped the belt around his arm and pulled until his hand felt like a down pillow. “When my hand falls off you are going to be the one to disinfect it and sew it back on.”

“Hey, this stuff is worth a little discomfort. The last time I tripped on Time I…” Alex faltered and shot his friend a side-long glance. “Hey, are you all right? You should sit down. You look all pasty and slimy.”

Jack cracked a grin with too many teeth. “I’m preparing my bloodstream to become one with a pasty and slimy liquid; I’m bound to look strange. Listen,” he said when Alex’s brow remained furrowed, “don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Trust me, I could use a little excitement in my life.”

His roommate favored him with a half smile. He’s not buying it, Jack though. Hell, I’m not buying it.

Alex shook his head, visibly pushing aside his misgivings. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve done it dozens of times, and it is great. It’s like you have your own little world at your disposal and you can influence everyone around you.”

“Sounds like playing dolls to me,” Jack said. Alex opened his mouth in protest. “All right, all right, action figures.”

“Yeah!”

“But can we get on with it? My fingers are warm and tingly.” Jack proffered his arm, his swollen veins casting shadows on his skin.

“All right, my friend.” Alex grinned, holding the needle to his friend’s skin. “Get ready for the best trip of your life.” Jack clenched his fist and Alex pushed the tip into the crook of his roommate’s elbow, watching as the swirling, opalescent drug drained into Jack’s vein.

The effects were startlingly immediate. Black splotches swam in front of Jack’s eyes, worsening his sudden dizziness. He had fainted two years ago on a public bus; the embarrassing scene forced itself to the forefront of his mind. He tried to focus his waning vision on the centimeters of Time that remained in the syringe.

Jack’s thoughts were behaving like an irascible toddler; no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t control them. This stuff looks like shampoo, he thought. I’m cleaning out my veins: too much blood, not enough sud.

“Whoa there,” Alex steadied him, gripping him by the shoulders. “Time to lie down. It takes effect pretty quickly and I don’t want to clean your brains off the floor.” Alex steered him towards the living room couch.

“Thanks, Alex,” Jack managed, sounding drunk, before he felt the connection between his brain and his mouth fizzle out. He was grateful to be reclining someplace soft; he felt his motor skills go next, neural synapses halting mid-fire.

Is this what it feels like to die? Jack felt a hit of panic, like a glowing ember lodged in his throat. He struggled to contain himself; it was too late to do anything now. As more and more connections snapped the feeling was replaced with a wash of contentment. The edges of his vision softened, lending everything a soft glow. This isn’t so bad. I wonder if I’ll experience the “white light” phenomenon.

Jack didn’t bother straining to retain the last of his fading vision. He closed his eyes and watched the atomic star bursts, colored like oil slicks. Eventually those faded and were replaced by roiling clouds of magenta and purple. He felt himself spiraling down, filtering out of consciousness.

I’ve written 26 single-spaced pages so far. Let me know what you think!