Chapter 2
Transcript of conversation between XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. June, XX, XXXX.
> The committee gave us a green light on project Heat Pump. You are cleared to press forward. When can I expect the candidate list?
>
> I have a preliminary list right now, XXXX. Twelve names at present, although we still finalizing the vetting process. We should have it narrowed down to eight candidates in a few weeks.
>
> Can I get them in ten days?
>
> Possibly XXXX. But can I assume we’re still under XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX protocol?
>
> You know full well that we are.
>
> Then I can’t promise that aggressive of a timeline. I’d feel a lot more comfortable with two and a half weeks. Say, by the close of business on Thursday the XXXX.
>
> Approved. Keep me apprised of any surprises.
>
> Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
>
> Yes, XXXX.
- Aiden -
NOVEMBER
It looks like I’m finally writing, which is good.
I’ve been trying to write for two days, trying to follow the advice of my good doctor to start a journal of my thoughts and my recovery, but these stupid things in my hands kept freezing the ink in all of the stupid pens and it wasn’t until one of the nurses, the quiet one who looks like Rebecca, I don’t recall her name, but she handed me a pencil and now I seem to be able to write just fine. My handwriting looks different, but again I blame these stupid disks.
I’ve just re-read the previous paragraph and apologize to anyone reading it, especially to any English teachers who might be reading. Not that I’m expecting to ever show this to anyone, but I’ll still try to behave my English a little better, if only for my own benefit.
It’s probably best that it’s taken two days to get to this point, as my perspective has softened a bit. I feel calmer now, less angry, less of an attitude that the universe was out to get me and less wallowing in thoughts of ‘why me’.
My hands feel heavy, which is understandable, considering the obvious, but they seem to be working just fine. I have a bit of scarring on my side and back from the explosion, but that should be entirely covered by normal clothing, assuming I’ll ever get a chance to wear some again, and I hardly notice it at all. The scarring, I mean, it doesn’t hurt or itch or anything, for which I’m grateful.
The only obvious, lasting outcome of an explosion that I don’t fully remember is my hands. Embedded in the center of each palm is a disk of pure silver, almost perfectly circular and almost exactly the same size.
Doctor Jacobs--not the one who suggested I start this journal--says that they are looking into removing the silver, but already there have been “complications.” I don’t think it occurred to him that I might be interested in knowing what those complications are, but hopefully he’ll let me know soon. For now, I’ll just wait patiently and try to catch up on some reading.
Will let you know if I can think of anything important to say.