First Lines

Works of fiction often come to be known by their openings. "Call me Ishmael." "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

In that spirit, I'm posting the opening lines of my various short story and novel manuscripts. Today we have:

"We’re all transparent. Hold your hand up to a light. Doesn't it make you anxious? Our bones and veins and organs, it’s just fruit suspended in strawberry jello. A bright enough light and our insides glow, a neon sign, open."

Although the story is by no means done, the opening paragraph, the spark which drove me to write this story down, originally began as follows:

"It's strange. Hold your hand up to a light. There are the bones, shadows swimming in red pink jelly. Veins like neon.That we can see through so easily. Guess that's what X-rays are. Just powerful light. Light bouncing and projecting, the world always a fraction of a second in the past. Maybe the whole thing is just a projection; theory that we’re all just holograms projected on dimensions of spacetime beyond perception."

Who knows what the next month will change.