A Manuscript, Here's a preview. I know it sucks. oh well Options

[bat19]

The needle was invisible under her skin resting somewhere in her vein. The poison it contained once moving through her system now stopped as the heart stopped. She was dead. I killed her. The needle hung loosely, lifting the skin slightly to show it was inside. I turned my face away, my guilt already beginning to take over. My hands shook as I cut up a line on the mirror. This will make me better, this is the only medicine I need.
I held the razor up, imagining what it would feel like to cut myself. Looking at the back of her legs, she had known for some time. I didn’t even know what her name was though I’m sure she told me more than twice. She looked like a Stephanie, or an Amanda. She remained a mystery, a puzzle that would need solving, but not until I had my medicine.
The room was spinning, a t-shirt draped over the lamp which left only a little light

(prologue unfinished)

Synesthesia is the neurological condition in which two or more of our bodily senses are coupled. Synesthetics perceive the world differently than normal people. Yet what exactly can be perceived as normal these days? I don’t think anyone could honestly tell you.
There are different types of Synesthesia, one of the most common being those who associate different colors with specific letters and numbers. For example, Jane who is not a Synesthetic types out “HELLO� and sees it as "HELLO." Yet John who is a Synesthetic types out "HELLO" and sees "HELLO"(This is supposed to be in different colors but I neither have the time, patience, or knowledge to do this). Other types include the association of days of the week, months of the year, and numbers with personalities. This type is referred to as ordinal linguistic personification.
1 out of 23 people are Synesthetic. Most are not aware that they are. Many do not become aware of their condition until later in their life, much like colorblindness. Many Synesthetics use their affliction to help in their creative process, like artists or musicians. Non-Synesthetics sometimes experience the effects of Synesthesia through a stroke, or psychedelic drugs. Some of them want to experience it again, and again.
The road to the Synesthetic experience is long and difficult. The hard truth is that no matter how real it may feel, it is impossible to have an authentic Synesthetic experience unless the person is in fact, a Synesthetic. You can at least come fairly close, and this is what I tried to accomplish.
I have never been truly happy with my condition of normalcy. I've always imagined some sort of extra sensory perception or advantageous mutation to my genome that allowed me a kind of special gift. The X-Men made me envious, the Superman made me angry. Why not me? Why is it not possible? I just want to be different. Not a freak, just not normal.
I would not consider myself a Hypochondriac of any sort, just a person who likes to pursue all possibilities to their conclusion. So when I come across the term Synesthesia by complete chance, I assume the worst. Is it possible I am a Synesthetic? Maybe. Anything is possible. I've always felt something was wrong, not right, just didn't make sense. So I visit the doctor, an elderly Asian man who cannot control the shaking of his hand while he makes the incision so instead he asks you to remain still, and he tells me that he has absolutely no idea what Synesthesia is.
This frustrated me. My question needed an answer, and my only resource had been expunged. I couldn't go into the emergency room, what would my emergency be? “Hi, I want to know if I see letters as colors.â€� I’d either be laughed at or thrown out for wasting time. Yet it would be time I paid for, I mean damn, it’s my taxes that pay for those scalpels, you should be thanking me. Well that would be the case if I in fact paid taxes, or hospital bills.
My question was yearning for an answer, and as if by fate the answer fell into my lap. Actually I fell into it, or her, whatever. You see I am rather clumsy, an unfortunate dilemma of coincidental mishaps. I am also quite paranoid which creates an inadequate mixture of shame and embarrassment. Imagine if you will a 17 year old boy(Im actually 19) walking down a broken street minding his own business, watching the ground so as to avoid the looks of the passerby, and his foot hits the top of an upturned sidewalk. Arms flailing, grabbing at air for something to hold, his body lunges forward with feet clear off the air, and lands on top of someone.
This someone was my answer, but I wouldn’t find that out until much later. When I finally gathered my wits together, I lifted myself up and checked for injuries. A scraped elbow and a banged knee that would later have a bruise. The girl I had pummeled was looking at me angrily, brushing pebbles off her shirt and breathing curses. I knew that an apology would not be accepted and figured the best thing would be to just walk away as if nothing happened. I turned to leave and heard her voice behind me.
“Why don’t you watch where you’re going next time!â€� I stopped and turned to look at her. There had to be a way out of this. I decided to just apologize and go on my way, but I turned too fast. The fall made me dizzy and less responsive, and I fell again, this time my other elbow broke the fall. I let out a high pitched shriek as the vibrating pain crept slowly up my arm, numbing everything in it’s path. The angry face of the girl turned to sympathy as she slowly misunderstood.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.â€� She grabbed me by the arms, accidentally brushing on both elbows. Pain shot up on both sides again and I let out another yelp, my teeth hitting my tongue as my eyes watered, “Oh no, no, I’m sorry.â€� She wanted to help, but was afraid to touch me. I was afraid too.
“Ishh okay..hm?� I looked up bewildered. My tongue was slurring my speech, my face turned red with embarrassment. She continued to try to help without actually helping, and I was panicking. “Ishh okay. Dun woowy bout it.� I was in pain. My tongue was numb, my elbows were sore, my knee was hurt. And she thought I was retarded. Maybe I was.
“Are you sure?â€� she said, her face full of concern and fear. It was only natural and nobody could blame her. I have always been uncomfortable around the handicapped. I’ve always been uncomfortable around everyone, but for some reason my heart beats faster and my eyes travel away from the handicapped and the deformed. And afterwards, I always feel ashamed.
“Yeah, I’ll ee ohing.â€� I turned and walked away, limping and holding my hurt elbows for effect. Once was out of sight, I dropped the act. I looked ridiculous, limping around like that. If my parents had seen me, they would have been very angry.

Not finished and certainly far from done, this is a very, very rough copy of a short-story I have since abandoned but would love to pick up again after more research into this condition of Synesthesia. The story was to be called The Sunnyside.

[*Libertie*]

So yeah, I've already read most of this so you know what I think of it. XD

Anyway, I'm just dropping in to say it's coming along pretty well and I'm excited to see it keep developing. So far it doesn't at all fit your title/description, but I'm interested in seeing what you do with it.