I wrote this little piece this morning. I am trying to show and not tell. What do you think?
“Let’s get started,” the pastor says, gently placing a roll of soft material into Tom’s mouth. “It won’t take long and Tom will feel no pain.”
Ruth attaches several probes to Tom’s temples. The probes are linked to a black box with a dial control on the front of it.
“Prepare to hold his shoulders down, Ruth,” he says. “This is electroconvulsive therapy and he will react.” He twists the dial.
The lights explode with a series of popping sounds and the temperature drops.
Michelle exhales sharply and her breath makes a puffy cloud in the sudden chill.
The box creaks as its sides bow outwards. Crack! It split into two parts. A crackle of blue electricity runs along the cords and the patient on the gurney jerks. Ruth, who was still holding his shoulders, is thrown backwards and crashes into the wall.
Tom’s legs and arms shoot out stiffly, relax, and then shoot out stiffly again.
“Oh my God, Pastor John shouts. “Oh my dear God, what is happening.”
The man on the bed is dancing an electric jig, his eyes are open, but there are no eyes, only a bulging whiteness. His teeth bite down hard on the rolled-up cloth.
“Gaaaaah.” A series of choking sounds escape his mouth and spittle rolls down his jaw.
Snap! Snap! Snap! The electrodes pop off his straining face and fly across the room, hitting the walls and making small craters in the plaster.
Michelle sees smoking black rings where the electrodes had been attached.
“I WIN! YOU CAN’T UNDO MY WORK. CAN’T MAKE HIM WALK AGAIN!” The words echo around the room, bouncing off the stark white walls.
An indistinct shape races around the room and vanishes through the closed window. The room temperature returns to normal and the figure on the bed opens his eyes. Normal blue eyes.
“What happened?” Tom says. “My feet are tingling, ooooooh, it’s driving me mad.” He wriggles in his brace. “I can’t move. Someone rub them for me. Please!”