SPECIAL THANKS TO SEAN MOLOTOV


Hi! This is the first part of my NaNoWriMo novel.

Everything was white, buzzing, bleary. The room smelled sterile; Sean smelled like hot New York garbage on a Summer day.

"Joe-han Schwen-key?"

Sean blinked away his blurred vision; he felt a dull pain in his right eye as he did. He shifted his weight on the exam table, the crinkling wax paper angry in his ear. He looked up to see an edgy smile. "I'm Doctor Sekhon," the man began slowly, stifling a Punjabi dialect as best as he could. "How are you feeling?" Sean grunted in reply and reached a hand to rub his eye. Doctor Sekhon panicked, and his accent pushed through as he pulled Sean's hand away. "Please do not touch, sir," he warned, almost apologetically. "You've hurt yourself badly. Do you remember what happened, Joe-han?"