Olena's Journal: August 16th

I never knew before what it meant to see red. It didn't occur to me that it was more than just an expression.

Monty Mittel, the reporter, went out to take pictures of the biker bar and see if he could figure out whether they were looking after as many people as we are to be taking all those supplies. He saw a bunch of bikers bring two young girls into the bar - crying, being handled roughly, hoods over their faces. I was ready to get a shotgun and go get those girls, and so was Mittel by the look of him - in fact he said as much.

But those wusses running the community centre decided to start defending the centre instead - boarding up the windows and making the place into a fortress. They wrote off those two girls as outside their control.

I expressed my opinion - which was that we needed to go rescue those girls and anyone else the bikers are holding against their will - and was pretty much patted on the head. I left the meeting before they could get me hammering plywood over windows.

This is the part where I'm glad this journal isn't live at the moment. I'm not sure I believe it myself, except that the evidence all says it happened.

I was wandering the corridors, angry and frustrated, debating and discarding ideas for suicidal rescue attempts with every step, and I wasn't watching where I was going. I stepped on a nail. It was about six inches long, about four inches of which were showing through the other side of a two-by-four. I think it went right through my foot. I remember seeing the bloodied point sticking up through the top of my foot.

I admit I panicked a bit. I really had two choices - I could scream, or I could take the nail out and risk bleeding out before I could get to the makeshift hospital. I chose the latter - I wasn't sure anyone would be able to hear me from where I was. Now, a good little medical student would NOT have done that, because taking a sharp object out of a wound makes the bleeding worse. But when you can see a nail sticking out of the top of your foot, you're probably not thinking too hard about whether the nail hit a major artery. You're thinking OW this fucking hurts get this fucking thing out of my foot OW. So that was what I did. Then I took off my shirt to apply pressure to the wound. (Yes, prurient minded readers of the future, I had a tank on underneath.) I am 100% certain that I was bleeding from the top and sole of my foot.

I limped my way to the hospital and asked for Dr. Glover. I hadn't done a shift in there in several days, and there are still people right on the edge of death; he was rather busy and it looked like I hadn't hit an artery. So I sat down and continued applying pressure top and bottom. I stayed like that a good ten minutes, and then took the shirt off the wound to look at it.

I couldn't find the wound. No, it wasn't obscured by scabs of blood, though my foot was very bloody. When I rubbed at the spot where the wound had been, the skin was unbroken. There was no wound.

I looked at the sole of my foot. Same thing there - no wound.

I got up and walked back to my cubicle of a sleeping area, without so much as a limp. Also without my flip-flops, because I'd been wearing one and it was still impaled on the nail. I got changed, put on some sturdier shoes, and went to look for it. I mean, surely I didn't imagine puncturing my foot on a six-inch piece of iron?

But no, there was the flip-flop, the left one, with nearly four inches of nail above it. And I wasn't even limping.

I wandered the corridors a bit longer, still angry over those wimps nailing plywood (and leaving nailed boards lying around willy-nilly, then went to find the reporter. We're going tonight to rescue those girls. I'm going to have to find a way to make sure I take most of the fire, though. I don't want to get him killed. I wonder if a bullet wound would just disappear like that nail wound did?

I'm crazy. I'm going to get myself killed. Who am I to be going into that den of iniquity to rescue anyone? They probably weigh more than I do.

But I'm doing it anyway.

Writer's Block: Proven by Science

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Yes. I do not think we can currently explain everything via science, and I do not think that everyone is capable of understanding every scientific explanation that will someday be out there - that realm is already too vast. But I do believe that a scientific explanation for everything is indeed possible.

stream of consciousness combat scene

Note: I don't think I've ever written a scene in quite this way. This is Olena's thoughts as she heads into last night's combat scene, and they'll stop when the scene stops - which isn't at any logical spot. We'll see how it goes.

Why did he suggest I come from this direction? It's a lot longer around. Oh, I see. The bastard is charging the door, he's breaking our deal, he promised equal partnership and the first thing he does is oh my GOD did he run that guy down? He didn't get the other one I can't get there in time doesn't this piece of junk go any faster he needs me there right NOW oh god hail of bullets this can't be good. Oh good the biker's hit that means the bastard reporter's not dead. I'll help him out shoot it's hard to shoot out the window of a moving car shit I missed but at least the guy took cover and Mittel's out of the car now. One death trap escaped, let's both run into another one, why don't we?

No one else here yet. Mittel followed the guy into the alley. He's down. Looks like the reporter is good in a fight after all. Door ahead. Have to rescue, have to stay focused. Mittel will be right behind me. Wish I could get in the front door, but Mittel blocked that one. stupid, stupid, that's the one with the stairs by it. Corridor; enemies! Shoot! Oh my god oh my god I just killed a man oh my god oh my god the other one ran back inside and closed the door. Why haven't they all come boiling out of there yet? Loud music must be too loud. Other door on the left, maybe to the stairs, try it first. Was that more bullets from outside? Who's left to kill out there? Why isn't Mittel right behind me? Room's empty, door at other side; closet, also empty, what a waste of time. Wonder if the guy who ran away has got reinforcements ah yes he does SHIT gotta run back outside Mittel's fighting one of the door guards and the other one's not dead either maybe he isn't as good in a fight as I thought. I'll get that one who should be dead. I'll make him pay attention to me!

Who's touching me stop it stop it HOW DARE YOU time to show you I'm not a scared kid to be raped by the likes of you. Drop weapons and throw him, no I won't just knock him out. Oh god I just killed another one. No time. Pick up the escrima stick, leave the gun, draw the other stick, face the guy behind. He's got a baseball bat and he's not moving. What, little man, you scared of me? You should be. Or are you still in shock from seeing your friend's head imitating a water balloon at a fall fair? My target is behind me now but I have to deal with this guy first. Mittel will have to take care of the other one.