The pain shot up my body like a train rolling through the station. Slowly at first, then fast. Almost to fast to comprehend. All I could think, was that this was going to leave a scar. A scar of love. I needed something to remember this moment by. It was one of those moments where the world seemed iridescent, bright and fuzzy. Things soon slowed down, to sluggish speeds. It was an unusual sensation to say the least. I’ve lived all my life in the lightning capitol of the world, but never once have I heard of anyone being struck. At least not here. Not ’till now. I’ve seen the reports on the T.V. Usually some jerk in Minnesota with a four-wheeler who thinks he’s gonna have a little extra fun, mud-slingin’ in the rain. Boy is he wrong!

As for me, I was just a mindin’ my own business. Well, I supposed it looked a little gloomy, but the weather here changes faster than the tides. It was sunny when I was struck, As though the clouds parted just for me! Any-who, it didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive on scene. While my town is located in the middle of nowhere, it’s one of those places where everybody knows everybody else, though I kept mostly to myself, I was hit downtown! So luckily, there was someone nearby to call 911. Usually when you hear of strikes, it’s out in the middle of a field, or in a forest where there just ain’t human life for at least a few hundred miles. It was really quite bizarre.

It still seems strange to think I had just bought my Starbucks when it hit. Maybe god was trying to tell me something about my caffeine addiction?! I doubt it, but still a pretty interesting thought. Then again, maybe it was karma. As it is, I keep getting off subject. After the ambulance arrived, and I thought this was truly ironic, they shocked me with one of those medical shock paddles. It was as though I could see myself from above my own body, but there was nothing I could do. Every time they shocked me, it kinda sucked my spirit in a little closer to my body. Quite an awful feeling. Almost painful.

Fight fire with fire I always say. I mean, hey, it worked, and I’m alive to tell about it. Once I was conscious, they didn’t quite let me hang out in the hospital like I expected. It was really more like “here, take these placebos, and you’ll be ok”. No real helpful drugs, no “I’m so glad your alive!” nothin. Ever since the accident, people have been more uptight towards me. As though I did something wrong. The egos of others grew, and my self worth fell low. Lower than the stories you hear of people coming down off drugs. My drug became anti socialism. I had to stay away from people. It seemed like everybody felt they were better than me.

I locked my self in my apartment, which I could barely afford rent for, and ordered an endless stream of pizzas and anything the restaurants nearby would deliver. Even the pizza guy seemed a little bit snooty. I had to alternate between Papa Johns, and Pizza Hut, ’cause the pizza delivery guys got on my nerves. Yea, it was that bad. I started to think, maybe I wasn’t “alive” after all. I read the same books over and over again. It was all I had. A few 1970’s MAD magazines, and Webster’s dictionary which I memorized word for word. The characters in MAD started to seem better than me. Was I crazy?! A world without love isn’t much of a world at all from what I could remember. I simply couldn’t bring myself to socialize, let alone love.

I started to take an interest in pyromania. I had a lighter from when I used to smoke. Just cigarettes. Not even weed could alter a mental state such as mine. I torched everything I could. The carpet, the bed, the phone, the few posters I had when I used to have an interest in something.  If not for the four walls of my apartment keeping me away from the egocentric people outside, I probably would have burned them down too. Once everything was burned, I sat. I sat and thought. Thought about all the things the lightning caused. Yea, that’s right, the lightning. The smell of burnt flesh infiltrated my nostrils as I slowly torched my arm hairs. It gave me a slight sensation, but nothing like the pains I remember from before the strike. It was the smell I enjoyed most.

All I could think of was the layers of hell. I suppose you could say I was a Dante fan prior to the strike. I liked to think of my evil in layers. Like an Onion, or a parfait. Layers indeed. I ordered one last pizza before my decision to fast. While the phone was charred, the pizza company still had my info, and they could hear through the static well enough to know my deep, downtrodden voice. All I had to say was “the usual” and they came a runnin’. They knew I was a big tipper, for money was of no use to me, and this time I was going to give it all.

This time however, was different. It wasn’t the usual pizza delivery guy with the snotty attitude, and the outlandish ability to make me feel like a human pile of garbage. Not this time. It was a girl. A younger, but not too young, maybe 19 or 20, with the voice of an angel. I gave her all my change and slammed the door in her face as usual. I’m not what you might call a “people person”. There I sat. To infatuated to eat my pizza, and bored with burning things. Not infatuated with her, per-se. It was more of a need to be loved. A wish that I knew would not come true.

It was funny, after a few days of sitting around, she came by again. All I could think was “I didn’t order a pizza.” And I didn’t. Something drew her here, and whatever it was, I didn’t like it. I had to answer the door naked, for I burnt all my clothes. As much as I hated the sight of another human, I let her in. Needless to say, she was disgusted at what she saw. A pile of soot, and burnt remains in the middle of my apartment floor, no material possessions, just a big, black pile, of what used to be things I cherished. And writing across all the walls. I liked to write, but I honestly don’t know if what I wrote on the walls even made sense. Probably not.

I like to think she stopped by out of curiosity. I know I was curious. Then again, maybe it wasn’t a look of disgust on her face. Maybe it was a look of love. It had been so long since I dealt with people, I couldn’t tell. Compassion eludes me. Months, and months went by. She lived with me, oddly enough not saying a single word. It wasn’t long, before I started to think “Maybe I just imagined her.” She would leave, and bring back food from time to time. It seemed just enough to keep me alive, but even then, hunger caused delusions, and it wasn’t long before I thought about cannibalism. If she was a figment of my imagination, she might taste pretty good, right?

Even when I expressed my thoughts of cannibalism out loud, she’d just turn to me, and smile, never said a word. She didn’t seem frightened, or emotional in any way. It started to get on my nerves a bit. I had always seen T.V. specials about the horrible things men did to their wives. I wasn’t one to beat a girl, but I had to get my emotions out somehow. I thought maybe my love would be reciprocated, so I started with a soft touch. First caressing her firm, but perky breasts. A soft squeeze of the nipple, a quick tongue whip between her ever so inviting legs, her lips parted like rosebuds. It was oh so succulent, like my first taste of honey.

But avast! Even in the darkest, dank corners of my imagination, there are hints of emotion. Not so with this girl. Not the slightest hint of movement, or barely a sound. Her eyes rolled a little if I shook her hard enough. But I couldn’t stand the longevity of her ice cold stare. Her eyes hurt my soul. No matter how loud, or long I screamed at her, she wouldn’t close her eyes. How stubborn she could be! I got so infuriated by her blatant refusal to close her eyes that I hit her. Not just once, but as much as I could, until my knuckles started to bleed. Oh what an outlet I had found! But not once did she scream, moan, or make the slightest wince of pain. The more I screamed, and hit, the longer she stared, and the gaze only infuriated me more.

With time I became calm. I decided to find another way to solve the problem. Erratically, I began to dig through the pile of burnt rubble in the middle of my apartment floor. Towards the bottom of the pile, I found four safety pins, which I was unusually exited to shove through her eyelids. “Let’s see you stare now!” I yelled as I pinned her eyes shut.

This only solved part of the problem. Two safety pins in each eye lid simply split her gaze into thirds! Now I had three times the problem! It only got worse and worse, and as I got hungrier, and hungrier, my thoughts turned again to cannibalism. The choice was between this and suicide. It was common knowledge, at least to me, that those who “off themselves” so to speak, go to hell. Is this what I wanted? Or would I dawn such a fate upon myself either way considering I have thoughts of eating the one I love.

I could at least eat the eyes. Good nutrition, no more staring, it’s a win, win situation. But it was against my nature to eat my true love. So, for now I shall wait. Wait in silence. In debate. To debate my fate, while I masturbate! The hunger pains me so. And after years of waiting, and attempting to “off myself” again, and again, I realize……I am invincible! Invincible in hell!!!