Have you ever jumped into cold water on a hot day? Have you ever ridden an asteroid across the surface of the sun? Have you ever done a backflip off the moon and landed in a bucket of water in Vatican City? If so, then you’ve experienced one-tenth of what I experienced the moment I took that pill.

My headache disappeared, my heart started pumping, adrenaline and pure energy flowed through my veins instead of blood. My fingers twitched and my mind moved at three times the speed of light.

I fell back on my chair, flew towards my desk and danced my fingers like I was playing the keyboard. Chapters fell before me like grass in front of a chainsaw.

I cranked out TEN chapters in three hours. And that’s not just writing them either that’s editing them multiple times, adding extra hyperboles, and making the first 31 sentences and the title into acrostic poems that read: Alex has shit ties.

It was heavenly.

After dusting off my 11th chapter I stood, did a couple of yoga poses and then took off out of my front door for a run.

Now, everyone has a weakness, Superman’s got his kryptonite, Achilles has his heel, I have physical exercise. Usually, the thought of going for a run would make me want to chop my legs off. But those crazy little pills made the sad-sad go away. I was flying past houses, high-fiving bushes and waving to people as I roamed the streets like an exercise junkie.

My god-like strides took me through the suburbs of The Village through to the centre of town where Sherlock-Holmes themed coffee shops and Wuxia-themed teahouses dominated the streets. Writers sat in booths talking and hacking away at tablets and laptops, while cover artists drew mythical figures in between shots of espresso.

There was a hard-working bustle about the place. Little box-like robots wheeled their way out from a boutique distribution centre to people’s homes carrying boxes of wine, cheese, and steaming meals.

I slowed my run and sat back on a bench beside a rose bush. Birds were chirping and there was a hum of music from the cafes. It was heaven.

That night Manuel was back at my house and we walked three blocks over to a giant log cabin and another party. The next morning I took a pill, busted out eight chapters and went for another run. As the weeks flew by I attended more parties than I’d ever been to in my life, smashed out over a hundred chapters and grew dark rings around my eyes. And then, one day, I met her.

****

I was at a pool party in the early evening. Manuel was sucking up to a bunch of new authors, and I was drinking beer with a bunch of horror writers while watching two guys beside the pool punching each other in the face over the use of Oxford commas. I didn’t know who was in the right – the guy whose eye was bruised, red, and puffy – or the guy with a swollen, red lump on his forehead.

Turns out, it didn’t really matter because they both paused mid-swing to stare at someone behind me.

I turned and in walked a woman in a white turtle-neck, and large round glasses. Four other writers dressed in full tweed suits flanked her. Heads turned. Famous web fiction writers who I hadn’t worked up the courage to talk to were whispering to each other and pointing to the woman in white.

The horror writers next to me were trying to look disinterested but I could see them peering at her out of the corner of their eyes.

‘Hey Stephen,’ I poked a tall guy in the arm, ‘who’s that?’

Stephen laughed, ‘Good one man.’

‘I’m being serious dude, why’s everyone staring?’

Stephen rubbed his forehead, ‘Man. That’s the emperor of this place – the most read author in the whole of Crusher Media, that’s...’

‘...Lazy Cultivator? The guy that writes the chicken story.’

Stephen nodded, ‘Only – she’s not a guy man.’

‘I guess I should say hi,’ I said getting up out of my seat, Stephen put his arm up to form a barrier.

‘Dude!’ He said, 'You, me, all of us,’ he gestured around the circle of horror writers, ‘We’re dirt.’ A couple of the guys clinked their beers and took a swig. Stephen pressed a finger into my chest, ‘We don’t talk to people like her. We don’t even look at her. This place has a hierarchy and man, you are the mud that hierarchy sits on.

I swallowed, ‘Good to know I’m appreciated then.’

Stephen shrugged, ‘Just letting you know the way things are dude.’

The tweed-wearers and their leader moved through the party like blue whales through a school of shrimp. A group of romance writers cleared out of their chairs beside the pool and the gang sat down and produced bottles of champagne from a wine cooler. The woman in white pulled a pair of VR glasses, a wireless keyboard, and a purple pill bottle from her bag, then she slipped a pill between her teeth, pulled the VR glasses over her face and started hacking away at the keyboard so rapidly she broke off one of the keys.

I swallowed, ‘She doesn’t come to parties often?’

Stephen shook his head, ‘not the sort of parties the rest of us get invited to. But... I’ve heard stories.’

I nodded slowly, my forehead was beginning to hurt the way it always did when the orange pills wore off. I took the orange pill container out of my pocket and shook it. There was no comforting tap of pills on the side.

I spun the lid open. It was empty.

My hands started to sweat. I got up, knocking over Stephen’s beer. He yelled at me, but I just waved an apology. I made a beeline straight for Manuel who was chatting to a bunch of fresh writers.

‘Hey, Eli,’ he said, wrapping an arm around me, ‘You guys heard of ElitheHill?’

A couple of the new writers grinned, one guy stuck out his hand, but my headache was getting worse with every second.

‘Manuel,’ I hissed, ‘I need some pills man.’

Manuel raised an eyebrow, ‘What?’

‘I need them now, my head...’ I stopped and rubbed one of my eyes, ‘I need the orange pills man.’

Manuel nodded, ‘Yeah, I’ll get you some man – in the morning.’ he wrapped his arm around me, ‘Come on man, be cool, have a beer.’

I shook my head frantically, my hands were trembling, ‘I need them now Manuel. Come on. You’ve got to have at least a pack on you.’

Manuel stared at me, his eyes suddenly seemed much colder, ‘yeah. I got some, but they’re two thousand reads.’

‘Two thousand?’ I bit my lip, ‘Man, they were five hundred two days ago.’

He shrugged, pulled the orange container from his pocket ‘You want em? Or not?’

My hands were a pool of sweat, my head thumped like a drum and bass concert and my right eye was twitching.

‘Yeah,’ I snatched them from his hand, ‘I’ll get Alex to transfer to you tomorrow.’

Manuel nodded, ‘Now get out of here man,’ his smile returned as he looked to the young writers, ‘You’re scaring off the new kids!’

The others laughed.

I fumbled with the pill bottle and Manuel gave me a kick, ‘Man! Get out of here.’ His eyes were hard again.

I stumbled my way over to the toilet, kicked the door open and slammed it behind me. My hands shook as I twisted open the pill bottle. The toilet smelt like vomit. The lid gave a click, popped open and I shook two pills into my hand. I usually took one, but I felt like I deserved the extra hit after everything I’d been through. I shoved them in my mouth, threw my head back, and swallowed.

A moment later I had electricity flowing through my veins and electricity in my brains. When I kicked the door of the toilet back in it was like the world was suddenly in 8k resolution. Colours and lights were sharper and more beautiful. There was music playing, someone passed me who smelt of flowers. I breathed in and started dancing.

****

My call with Alex the next day began with me reciting a poem about his ties that I made up on the spot. He was wearing a beetroot red tie and by the third verse, his face had gone the same colour as the tie. It took him a few minutes to calm down, but when he finally did he ended up being quite pleased.

‘I see you’ve been producing a lot of chapters Mr Hill, you’re also pulling in a lot of readers. My suggestion is that you should start stockpiling them, rather than just posting them as you finish them, that way when you hit another of your dry spells, you’ll have a buffer to get your shit sorted.’

I grinned and pulled the orange pills from my jacket pocket, ‘I’m not going to have another slump.’ I tossed the pill bottle up and caught it behind my back without looking, ‘Alex, I have discovered the key to literary immortality.’

Alex’s smile wavered for a moment, then with an effort of brute force he manage to affix it back to his face.

‘I’m glad Mr Hill.’ He went silent for a moment, ‘Just be careful okay... with those chapters I mean... we don’t want you to get worn out and not have anything left in the can.’

I shrugged, shook the pill bottle again, ‘Don’t worry about me buddy – just keep transferring Manuel that money. Okay?’

Alex nodded and ended the call.