Oh my holy Goddess… if this is any indication of my pace setting for this year’s NaNo campaign I may as well preorder my Zimmerframe and place at the retirement home. In the past hour I’ve managed to craft 250 words. So having laid them to rest here on the blog… I’m moving on. Hope there is enough to entice you to want to read more (especially those of you who did not read the original story)
The Lichtenberg Trust
Electricity discharges in a tree-like pattern when lightning strikes. When it hits the ground it has greater beauty and intricacy than anything seen in the heavens above. Even in the wilds of nature, in the unpredictability of an electrical storm there is system and reason.
The first time the lightning tattoo spread across my milky skin I plied my craft as a simple coffin maker who having lost his first and only love begged God to let him die. The ragged scream forcing its way out of my smoke burnt throat was echoed by the storm. My savage plea reverberating overhead in the peels of thunderstorm, lightning clawing beneath the belly of the black clouds like the cold fingers of betrayal squeezing the last of the love from my heart, the hot tears countering the large, cold drops of rain.
I should have been dead. No one survives a positively charged strike but I regained consciousness later, naked and disorientated amid the mud and refuse of the Lambing Flats goldfield. The claret-coloured limbs of lightning spread across my chest in ever diminishing size, just as they would, time and time again.
Like a bolt from the blue Ryan Anderson, as the world knew me in 1855 ceased to exist and I became an anomaly – dead man walking; a man out of time, luck and love in 1856. In time I consoled myself with the knowledge of Georg Lichtenberg and his Lichtenberg figures… if there was method to the behaviour of lightning, then there was hope for me and my strange time travel.