Last week I started work on the final draft of my upcoming novel I Killed My Friends and It Thrilled Me. Of course, I'm scared, freaking scared. I'm also very ecstatic, which is why I decided from that point onwards to share pieces of the novel with you.
Here are the first set of snippets from the novel. These may vary in the final published version.
"Hello, Herbert," the woman standing in front of me spoke. And she wasn’t Sarah.
The last time I saw Gina Watson was more than a decade ago. We were sitting on a swing surrounded by her mother’s roses under a crescent moon. Her cotton candy-flavored lips touched mine. I licked my lips twice after to savor the taste, not knowing that kiss would be our last. The following day, her mother handed me a piece of folded paper, a Dear Herbert letter written in black ink that could’ve been the tears of my immediate bleeding heart.
I knew Gina was getting married to a douchebag named Danny Fackelmeyer. I also knew she didn’t buy clothes from Victoria’s Secret. I suspected that her eyes rolled upwards during orgasm as I observed from every spoon of cheesecake she ate. Beyond those, I knew nothing more and I needed to know more so I could find more reasons to have glee over her current state of life.
“Private” cockblocked me though. Her Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook profiles were all set to private. I supposed if you did not have a six-pack or did not look acceptable in a bikini, you’d make your social media accounts private too. My only consolation was her one public profile photo, a semi-duck-faced selfie, and one public cover photo, a row of rose bushes.
If given a chance to save a damsel in distress, would you take it or leave it? Any dick, thinking or unthinking, would take it because nothing shone brighter than any medal or trophy except any gallant act, ancient or modern. What if the damsel was a cheesecake-liking and carbonara-loving soon-to-be-married lady, in short, FAT, would you take it or leave it?
“Why are you here?” I asked Gina, my voice as sour as the taste of year-old vinegar.
“I need your help, Herbert,” she replied. Those four words plus my name tickled my taste buds.
"It's moving too fast!" Gina wobbled, taken by surprise with the sudden increase of the treadmill's speed.
"This is the real workout right here. This is the real deal," I said, running on the treadmill next to her.
"Ack!" She squealed.
"You want to lose weight for the wedding?" I started imitating one of the gung-ho trainers in Gym Olympia who always sounded like an overcaffeinated cheerleader.
"You want your fiancé to be surprised when he returns?"
"You want to look better in your wedding dress?"
"Then run, Gina. Run! Do it for the wedding! Do it for your wedding!"
Madeleine slouched. Her eyes dampened and her lips turned into a frown. "Yes," she replied in a soft voice, no trace of offence in its somber rhythm.
"Does your heart still pulsate every time someone utters his name?"
"Does his voice echo in your mind in the middle of the night?"
"Does his face appear on every stranger's head in the city?"
For more information about the book, visit its own page.