This is a story I'm writing as part of NaNoWriMo, which is a month-long event where writers from around the world focus on writing each day of the month of November in order to finish, or create a piece of fiction.
I did start this story before November but decided to use this month to try and get this one finished, or at least get a good bit of it written.
A pounding sensation resonating from the back of his head forced him to do the only thing he could do; take his dry hand and hold onto the source of the pain. He saw himself in the third person briefly, or at least an imagined idea of what he may look like. A man in his twenties, lying on the ground wincing in pain. His short brown hair was half wet on one side. A puddle to the right of him was made up of alcohol and some stranger's bodily fluids. Dark liquid surrounded his lips; ash, mixed with whatever he drank.
He could have laughed at himself if he was in his right mind. He wasn't right though, nothing was right. The Gank was too strong, and unlike anything else he'd ever done before. He wasn't one to ask questions before, and it wouldn't have helped had questions been asked anyway. Nobody who buys or takes that sort of stuff knows where it came from, or what the ingredients are. "Was it synthesised in a sterile environment?" Who would ask someone that? Dealing with dealers was nerve-wracking enough, without having to question them on this manner of stuff. "Thank you," is the appropriate response when placed in a situation like that.
There he was. The result of a going away party gone wrong. Where were his friends? Mari was somewhere, as was M'Trada. "I'll be over in a minute." That's what the Trisken said before turning away and leaving him. Andron knew they didn't like the fact that he was leaving, but what choice did he have? Stay in a puddle of who knows what, with stains down the front of his trousers. Some life. "Thank you," Andron heard himself mumble. The fool.
Another person came into view. A Trisken. It was so unusual to be able to see both himself and the back of the Trisken's head looking down. The angle of view made no sense. I'm imagining the back of the Trisken's head. He decided. It was strange though that he saw himself be picked up. It was far too real to be a daydream.
"Another Human who thought they could handle Sin," M'Trada said jovially, but wrapped in the happiness of his voice were very genuine insults. M'Trada wasn't exactly one to pull any punches, but the thought of him being this careless towards a friend made Andron feel uneasy. The Gank the Trisken gave him could have been poison. Perhaps this is some sort of sick joke in his eyes. A going away present.
Andron replied, or at least, tried to reply. His words came out jumbled, as though his tongue could follow orders. It rolled around loose and twisted.
Propped up on a chair, Andron regained enough control to put his head down on a table. Sleep. He heard his body scream. It'll wear off soon.
Drifting between this world and the other, lost somewhere in between. There was no dreaming, no thinking, no reason. All it was dark. He was lost in that darkness forever. An infinity and nothing. Everything and nothing. His friends were with him, he could feel their presence, hear their wordless whispers, their breath, their hands in his pockets. Tugging at his coat, as if trying to wake him from his sleepless waking life. They were everywhere, and nowhere all at once. He could comprehend it all, but nothing made any sense. He was just floating on a stool, feeling himself sitting, looking at himself sitting, but feeling as though his mind was millions of miles away. There was no fear though, if anything, it felt warm. A sensation that resonated in his groin and ran down his legs.
