A violent flash streaked across the ink-black sky, casting an eerie glow upon his writhing body. His anguished screams pierced the air, sending shivers down my spine. The man, whose skin was once shrouded in darkness, now bore golden tendrils on his back like ancient mountain ranges etched upon an aged map. It was a sight that defied logic and reason, plunging us into a realm of terror.

Trembling, I found my voice amidst the chaos. “Please, I have a child. You cannot do this to me,” I pleaded, desperation lacing every word.

Two men seized me firmly by the arms, their grips unyielding as they dragged me toward the place where the lightning had struck. In the centre of their circle stood a stone table, its presence ominous. A ring of onlookers surrounded us, their faces distorted by fear or twisted delight, it was hard to discern.

The hooded shaman, a figure of authority and ancient wisdom, gestured toward me with an inscrutable expression. “Bind her and place her on the table,” he commanded, his voice a low, grave resonance that chilled my soul.

“Yes, shaman,” the men responded. Their rough hands bound my wrists and legs tightly, the ropes biting into my flesh like flexed muscles. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a desperate plea for mercy.

The shaman raised his hands skyward, his incantation in an unfamiliar tongue filling the air. Around us, the crowd joined in, their voices blending with the shaman’s chant, creating a ululating chorus that reverberated through the night. The anticipation built, each voice reaching a crescendo until a resounding crack split the air.

Thunder.

A deafening rumble that shook the very ground beneath our feet. With it came a bolt of lightning. I watched in fearful awe as the bolt streaked across the sky, its serpentine form resembling the life-giving veins that coursed within our bodies, but this was no benevolent force. It was the same thunderbolt that Zeus had wielded to vanquish gods — a harbinger of doom.

An inhuman scream tore through my throat as the lightning struck, searing agony consuming me. The golden vines formed on my body, scorching my flesh, their intricate patterns etched with searing pain. My eyes strained to glimpse their mesmerising contours, a map of unknown significance, before succumbing to darkness. My mind became consumed by thoughts of my daughter’s beautiful smile, her laughter echoing in my ears as I pushed her higher on her swing set.

The world faded away, replaced by an abyss of nothingness, until…

The blinding light burned my eyes as I struggled to open them. I found myself in a room painted stark white, surrounded by machines beeping and humming with mechanical rhythm. Was I dead? The thought whispered through my mind, only to be silenced by the searing pain radiating from my back.

“You’re awake, Miss Swartz,” a friendly voice said, pulling me from the haze of uncertainty. “I’ll call the doctor.”

Doctor? I wanted to utter the word, but the pain prevented me from voicing my thoughts. Instead, I lay there, dozing off once more.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway jolted me awake. My eyes darted to the door: a mammoth of a man stood beneath its arch, a glimmer of concern in his kind hazel eyes.

“Miss Swartz. You’re…um. I am so glad to see that you are awake.” His voice sounded coy yet friendly, attempting to offer reassurance.

“Thank you, Doctor. What happened to me?” I asked, my voice laced with uncertainty.

“I am Doctor Rasdien,” he introduced himself, moving closer to my bed, his gaze fixed on my scarred back. “You were struck by lightning, ma’am, and you are lucky to be alive.“

A dream. It must have been a dream, I thought, as the memory slowly returned, mingling with the searing pain in my back. Could the morphine have done this to me? They say that pain deranges even the sharpest of minds. Perhaps that was the case here.

“Zoe!” I gasped, realisation hitting me like a tidal wave. “Where is my daughter? She was with me when it happened.”

A loud bang like a gunshot reverberated in the hallway, causing Doctor Rasdien to move swiftly to the door, locking it with haste. In an instant, he removed his hospital attire, transforming into an ordinary man one could pass by without notice.

“Doctor Rasdien, I asked you a question!” I said.

“I need to get you out of here, Merisha. It is not safe,” he replied, his eyes betraying a mix of concern and urgency.

With gentle but swift movements, the doctor helped me out of bed, and I fought back the urge to scream as pain shot up my spine. He tossed me the clothing I had been wearing when I was wheeled into the hospital.

BANG! BANG!

Gunshots. The deafening sounds echoed through the hallway, growing closer with each passing moment. A violent thud shook the door, which was threatening to give way to the danger that lurked beyond.

“Open up, Doc. Don’t make me break down this door,” a man snarled, his voice hoarse and dripping with malice.

“Come, Merisha,” the doctor urged once more, urgency colouring his voice. “These men will not hesitate to kill you.”

The man at the door tried to ram it open, the black and red insignia on his shoulder bouncing against the thick glass as he struggled.

Summoning every ounce of courage and fueled by a mix of pain and fear, I followed the doctor’s lead, pushing through the agony that threatened to consume me. We made our way toward the emergency exit, the hospital’s sterile corridors a blur of confusion and trepidation.

Gunshots rang out behind us, as we burst into the open air of the parking lot, running toward the doctor’s car. The pain that wracked my body was debilitating, threatening to immobilise me, but the instinct for survival propelled me forward.

Tell us: What do you think is happening?