Young Writers Society

The instant I lay eyes on you, I know that from here on out everything is going to be different. Do not ask me why I feel this way, because I have no idea; all I know for sure is that now, this is a new chapter. This, I realize, is how someone feels when they scratch off the final box on a lottery ticket and discover that they have won the grand prize. This is how someone feels when they move to a new house. Not quite that fortunate, perhaps, but this newness, this realization that my life is now going to be completely different, is how I feel when I see you.

I saw the lightning strike, you know. Me, my mom, my dad, and my little sister Chessie were driving down the highway. I saw your car; the only reason I even noticed it is because there was no other traffic on the roads, just the two of us. I saw you pull over in the distance, and, about twenty seconds later, there was a huge boom and a dramatic flash. This was all so jarring that my dad swerved the car and nearly crashed into a tree.

“What was that?” I asked. The flash was still burned on the insides of my eyelids; I saw a negative of it everywhere I looked.

Nobody answered.

We came upon your car then, and I looked past it just in time to see you splayed in the grass. A few feet away, an older man lay smoking on the ground. “Stop!” I screamed, but Dad already was. He and I leapt out of the car at the same time and started running - me to you and Dad to the other man, presumably your father.

Now, I am staring at you, wide-eyed, entranced by the twisted way you are laying in the grass, like some kind of mutilated starfish. All of the brush grass in about a ten foot radius has been singed down to the dirt.

Dad is yelling into his phone; I’m not listening close enough to tell if he’s yelling specifically at the 911 operator or if he is unaware of the change in his voice because of the severity of this situation. He sounds distraught, though, and won’t even let Mom and Chessie out of the car.

I look up at him then, and discover he is pointing at me, and then pointing at the car, trying to order me around while talking to the operator at the same time. I pretend I don’t understand what he is asking. I am reluctant to leave your side because I have the bizarre feeling that if I leave you I may never see you again.

I glance down at you once more. You look like you are sleeping, and for the trauma you have just been through you seem awfully peaceful. A big fat raindrop dives down from the sky then, landing on your cheekbone and forming a teardrop track down your chin. It doesn’t look right, the calmness on your face and the tear raindrop, so without thinking I go to wipe it away.

“Cole, no!” I hear my dad yell, but it’s too late to stop me. As soon as my hand brushes your skin, electricity leaps into my fingertips.

Suddenly my blood is boiling; all of my cells are leaping and stinging and bursting, and I feel the charge beating through my veins. I cannot move; try as I might I have been paralyzed. The last thing I see before I black out is my dad running for me.



“C’mon, Cole!” you say with a smile as you leap through the field. It is the same field you were struck in, I know that, only more beautiful. All the plants are blooming with picturesque flowers. Everything smells delightful, so good it seeps into my veins and every atom of my being. “C’mon!” you say again, urging me to follow you into the field.

You take off running in the opposite direction and I follow you. The slight breeze whips your dress around your knees like you are the wind itself. Suddenly you stop, and I stop to stand beside you.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you say, looking up at the sky. I look to where you are looking and see that the serene blue and clouds that resided there before have been replaced by soupy boiling black thunderheads. I look at you again - how could you think a thing such as this beautiful? - but you are smiling at me. Your eyes flash white for just a second, but it is enough. As you go to place your hand on my arm, I know what is going to happen before it even does.

Just like before, the charge leaps from you to me and goes straight to my heart, burning and stinging. With ridiculous effort I am able to grit my teeth against the pain enough to hold my hand up in front of my face; I discover I am glowing white.

I look at you, eyes wide, but you are still just smiling.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you say.



When I wake up, I am surrounded by white. Instantly, I scream. This is what it is like inside the lightning.

After a few seconds, I have recovered enough mental capacity to realize that this is not lightning, but a hospital. Still, though, I cannot stop screaming.

Three people rush up to me at once, all wearing scrubs adorned in various cartoon patterns. Garfield, Peanuts, Mickey Mouse.

Mickey Mouse is wearing a mask over her mouth, but I can tell she is smiling at me. Her face crinkles and her eyes light up. Just then, there is a jab in my arm and I look to see Peanuts staring down at me. He does not smile.

My screams are slowly becoming quieter, subsiding into just whimpers. However, the quieter my voice gets the louder the voice inside my head is screaming.

Mickey Mouse, Peanuts, and Garfield leave, but still that voice screams away. With everything I look at, it gets louder. The lights, the crinkly bedding, the dull grey vision outside the window - scream - the cold tile floor, the machines on either side of me - scream - the girl in the bed next to mine -

Silence. When I see you, the voice finally shuts up.

I do a double take, and sure enough, there you are, lightning girl, skin a sickly grey beneath the sheets. You are asleep, just as peaceful now as you were in the middle of that field. Your eyes flutter and I wonder if you are dreaming. Do you even know who I am? Do you even know that through some bizarre twist of fate, I got ‘some of your lightning’ too?

Syringes stick out of both of your forearms, and your hands are wrapped so thick in gauze they’re like boxing gloves. A fighter, I think. Surely you are worse off than I am, but you will get through this.

Isn’t it beautiful?



I am sitting up, watching CNN, of all things, and eating red jello for breakfast when you finally come to.

“The...” you whisper, eyes dazed. Suddenly you are conscious and you are screaming. “The ants! The ants!” You claw at your own skin, leaving angry red track marks.

“Nurse!” I yell unintelligibly - my mouth is full of jello. I look at you, completely confused. Ants?

It is then you notice I am in the room, and stop freaking about ants, or whatever. “Who are you?” you ask accusingly, like I’m the crazy one.

I drop my spoon innocently. How do you go about introducing yourself to the person you have an incredible connection such as this with? After a moment of deliberation, I hold up my right hand by way of introduction. There, I know you can see them. The red welts on the ends of my middle three fingertips. They are terribly painful; the nurse just removed the bandages this morning.

You mutter something incoherent and hold up your own hand, expecting to see matching welts. When you realize there are none, you look at me again, one eyebrow raised.

“No. Here,” I say, gesturing lightly along my left jawbone.

You raise your hand slowly, and when you feel the welts, you jump. Yours are worse than mine. “What... happened?” you ask softly.

It is then the nurse finally shows up, a heavyset black woman wearing too tight of scrubs. Dang quick service. What if you’d been trying to kill yourself, or something? She takes one look at you and rushes out of the room.

You glance at me and laugh. “Do I look that horrible?”

Thinking you want an answer, I spend a few seconds trying to decide whether to be sarcastic and funny or serious and sappy. And lame. And creepy. I don’t really know what you would think.

I’m saved from having to reply, because right then the nurse returns with an army of other nurses dressed exactly like her.

“Zephyr,” the one from earlier says, walking just close enough to the bed to massage your feet through the blanket. Zephyr. You have such a cool name. “How do you feel?”

“That... hurts,” you whisper, contorting your face into an expression of pain. The nurse just keeps rubbing your feet though, and you grit your teeth to hold back tears.

“Stop!” I say. “You’re hurting her!”

You and the nurses all look at me at once, like you’ve forgotten I’m there. With a sudden stroke of boldness, I look at the nurses and say, “When you rub her feet like that. It hurts her.”

“That’s where the strike went out,” the big nurse says. “Exit point. The tissue has... why am I explaining this to you? Who are you?”

“Exit point?” you ask, but no one answers.

“I want to know,” I say, ignoring the nurse’s second question. “I got struck too.” Okay, so I didn’t really get struck. Indirectly, sort of, but whatever, there was lightning in my body.

She raises an eyebrow skeptically but continues anyway. “The tissue has been compromised, just like on your fingertips. Massaging them is helping her to regain some feeling and strength. And the fact that it hurts is actually a rather good thing - that means, like I said, she’s regaining feeling.”

“Oh,” I say.

Several minutes go by of them massaging your feet and you holding back tears. I alternate between watching you and watching CNN; I can’t bear to watch your pain for too long, but I can’t bear to watch the stupid news stories either; this is the only channel I get good reception of.

After a little while, the nurses leave. I’ve been waiting for this, because I want to talk to you, but you immediately fall asleep. I sigh and resign myself to watching CNN again. Isn’t there anything better to do around here?

Just a little later, there is a light knock on the door, and before I can answer it is pushed open, revealing my parents and Chessie, who are brandishing flowers and cards.

“Cole!” Chessie cries when she sees me, sprinting for my bedside. Expecting her to hug me, I extend my arms, but she stops just out of my reach. A terrified look comes over her face, and then I realize why: she thinks by touching me, she’ll get struck, too. As she’s only four years old, I can see how this would make sense.

“Oh, no, Chess,” I say, patting my own arm. “See? All gone.”

She still doesn’t hug me, but she shyly hands me the flowers she’s holding and backs up into my mom.

“Thanks, Chess,” I say, putting them on my nightstand. “These are pretty.”

I smile at Mom and Dad and discover that they both have tears in their eyes.

“What?” I ask, furrowing my brow. Something you said earlier pops into my mind: Do I look that horrible?

I know even before they tell me that it is you they are crying for, not me. “It’s... she’s going to be okay, right?” I ask, looking at your sleeping form beneath the blanket. It’s hard to imagine you not being okay; now that I have met you I don’t know I could even imagine a world you didn’t exist in.

“She’s fine,” my mom chokes out. “But it was...” She can’t even complete her sentence because she’s crying again.

My dad finishes for her. “She doesn’t know yet; they’re focusing on helping her recover, first... but her dad... he didn’t make it.”

Okay im just gonna say i need a few points i hope you don't mind if i just drag things out a bit, i personally find almost absolutely nothing wrong with it. though when you switch characters i do find that a little confusing but thats it. the pace is good it kept me into it and i am ready to read another!!

That was great! I think this one was better than last chapter, even though there isn't a lot of action like the prologue. I still don't understand how it is connected to the prologue but I'm sure I'll soon find out. There is just one mistake that I'd like to point out:

I am sitting up, watching CNN, of all things, and eating red jello for breakfast when you finally come to.

I think that here you meant to say when you finally come too. as in also, not "to" as in towards.
That's the only mistake that I see and I liked how you wrote it in present tense, it makes it more realistic somehow. Now I'll go on reading the rest of the chapters, I am really getting into it.
Good luck with finishing it!