The fractals first appear an hour after the strike, like the pristine edges of snowflakes stained into skin.

There was a storm. The thunder made the house shake.

Running down her arms like rivers, they branch out into smaller and smaller segments. Nature’s tattoos, the fossil of an electric charge.

The phone rung, quivering in its hook on the wall.

Lightning’s flowers, the nurse calls them. Lichtenburg scars. Beautiful red ferns with blister blooms that burn so brightly she forgets her own name.

Her sister said she would call at six thirty. She promised to answer.

Ruby_ _roots, painted across her shoulder. Cracks in the bubbling skin that feels like it might just melt all the way off.

She picked up the phone. Its cord jittered like static.

__ Her eyes can barely focus, the scars’ stinging is so sharp. Like hot hoarfrost clinging to her body. Every second is another eternity—she wonders if she will ever truly heal.

_And in a flash, her mind went white. _