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 Night In The Western Wastes
Lost For Words
Andron felt himself. Once more, he was in control of his own mind. On one hand, he did feel as though he was floating; feeling wasn't completely there. The body was in a way, numb. Self-awareness had come back, which was good, and at least helped to make him feel normal. What was normality though? What did it mean to feel normal? To feel, himself once again. The concept was lost on him for a split second. Left in a daze as his brain ran overtime to figure it all out, he walked on autopilot.
The room passed around him, and the people were just background characters in his waking dream. They were from everywhere, every known world of Free Space.
There was a Doshan dancer; her green skin was damp with sweat and the lights reflected off her. With each sway of her shoulders, the lights jumped. They raced from one side to the other, and he was left mezermerised by them. She was in a tight dress; shoulderless. There were a few other missing pieces of fabric that showed her ribs, hips, and stomach. He looked her up and down, staring at the flickering lights.
He blinked, and everything changed.
Continuing her dance, uninterrupted and indifferent to Andron, she moved to the music. Each movement was a snapshot, every moment paused and still as it faded into the background of the next snapshot, over and over again.
He thought of asking her for her name, perhaps they could speak, maybe they could dance together. There was no way he could speak with her now, not like this. She wasn't just some dancer in a venue. Not just some Doshan. She was something much more. She was everything in the universe, and everything that had been, everything that ever would be. It all made sense, it all made sense now.
"You wanna get slabbed, freak!"
Andron heard shouting and turned. The room paused with each passing millisecond, and each frame faded away to make way for the next. It was as if the outline of his peripheral vision was blurry, giving much more focus to whatever he stared at. It was amazing.
"This is so," he said. He could hear himself speak, but it sounded slower than usual. The bass in his voice was gone, it was much softer. It was like he heard his own thoughts leave his lips. Like he was in front, behind, and beside himself all at the same.
Someone pushed someone out of their way. They were wearing speed leathers. Dark leather, reserved - typically - for speeder pilots. Not that they'd protect much from a hall. He recognised one of the insignia's, some of the paintwork. Memorable to most people in Talirda. It was a High Flyer. Angry. The browned lips tended to be a result of their drug of choice, Haze.
He put his hands up to the charging man. The look on his face screamed murder. Andron could only watch the unchecked approach and hope that someone else had pissed this guy off. The snapshots allowed him to witness and savor every detail. The greasy long hair. Sweat-stained brow. The whites of his eyes swallowed his pupils. The brown lips receded to reveal brown-stained teeth. The shoulder falling back. The elbow falls further. The fist balled up. It came forward faster than it went back. His vision was obscured by it as it reached his face. Upon collision, time was normal once more. By the time he felt the third punch, he was on the ground. By the time he felt the fourth boot, he was unconscious.
"Uhh," Andron moaned, and groaned. He was weightless.
His neck felt weak. His head flopped freely. Held down by its own weight. The floor passed below him quickly. Only one eye was open to it. The other felt like it was obstructed by something that forced it shut. His arms were stiff, suspended. His hands were covered in dried blood. Beyond them, boots on either side of him walked at his pace.
"Sounds like he's awake," someone said, but Andron could only hear through one ear, as the other was muffled.
"Good. Just in time." Someone said on the muffled side. He could just about make out the words. The laughter was easier to understand.