I am back home. My body feels like I’ve been struck by lightning, probably because I was. They tell me I will never be a star … erm, the same. The eclectical … electrical system in my body has been jumbled up totally, and who knows when or if it will recover. My ears have only just stopped ringing. I was lucky that my eardrums didn’t burst. I have a pencil-thin web of scars (burn marks?) up and down my torso and legs, which I assume will never go away. They said it was an unusual pattern, distributing the current, rather than a straight path from my head to my feet. A freak pattern from a freak bolt of lightning. I asked them to shave my head yesterday, since my hair was melted and mottled.
They have told me that I’ll be prone to seizures, but I haven’t had any yet, unless you count the tremors that I’ve been having on occasion. I’ve also had some amnesia. The past two weeks are completely gone, unless you count the dreams, ones that I would discount completely if it weren’t for the letter I received today, which seemed to align with the delusional blog posts from the past month or so. Before the two-week gap, the previous month is pretty fuzzy, too. My frog … blog helps to fill things in, but I don’t know what is real and what is fantasy.
No one will walk with … err, talk to me. Wilf has gone home, but Ben might come stay with me next week. My parents are afraid to fly, but they are happy that I’m on the mend.
This letter is the most ridiculous. It purports to be from me, but it is written in crayon in the printing of a child:
If you are receiving this message, you have survived. I don’t know how much you remember, but you have greatly wronged the neighbor boy, Tommy. That was the only way you could induce the lightning strike. You had to be so angry with Beatrice that your subconscious would lash out to kill her. She was in your body, which needed to die, at least long enough for her to be cast out of it. I only hope that Thaddeus stopped her from going too far with Tommy.
Believe your blog. It is true. All of it. You have survived probably because you helped Diana “accidentally” dial 9-1-1 just before the carnage to get the emergency services close by.
This was the only way. There was no Plan B.
Tommy may never speak to you again, but keep an eye on him, if you can, as well as Diana, who is writing this letter for us. You are her unicorn.
Yours … well … You,
Gaia Esmeralda Dryar
I’m still processing this. I’m alive, and that is what matters. The writer knew my full name, and that is saying something. Maybe I will regret surviving. The road ahead will be difficult. I’ve taken leave from work for the time being, and I still seem to be able to play my horn, but I want to be 100% before I return. It wouldn’t be a good idea for me to have a seizure on stage.
I am definitely not 100% now.
Tommy’s post on my blog was disturbing. I’m very sad about Thaddeus. I don’t remember him, but I regret my part in his death.
My house was a complete shambles when I arrived home. It looked like someone had an orgy here. That would be in keeping with my blog, which, if it were true, would mean that I’m three weeks pregnant. Did anyone check that at the hospital? They wouldn’t expect a single woman my age to be pregnant, and until now, I didn’t know it was a possibility. I assume the lightning strike would have ended that. I can’t imagine that the embryo would survive 30,000 amps of current. I have a follow-up appointment in a couple of days, so I’ll bring it up with my doctor.
I need some sleep in my own slime … um, bed for the first time in days. I’ll clean up later. (Ick! Dried semen everywhere. Maybe I’ll find some clean shirts … sheets first.)