Acid Rain by R.D Rhodes (ebook reader txt) 📕

now less than ten left in the UK as “Care in the community” takes over. Or so some of the newspapers said in the weeks following the fire, amongst the many stories that came out of its aftermath. The extent of the inspector’s background was discovered, along with my dad’s, both of them involved in a ring which went right back to the government and included some other major politicians. But most of it, like the inspector had told me, seems to have been covered up, the evidence destroyed, and I doubt we will ever see it.

My case was reviewed and I was let free. The judge even apologised, for the thousands like me, who have had to suffer what we did.

As for Nina, she was never found. Maybe she is on the run somewhere, or living out her life, or dead in some forest. She is almost like a phantom. Some days I long to see her again, just to see what happened to her, to see if she’s okay, or so I can get some closure, but I don’t know.

Harry went to the other side from a hospital bed rather than a part of nature like he wanted to die in. The burns covered eighty percent of his body, and half of his face, so his neck scar was barely even noticeable anymore. The last month he was in and out of consciousness, mumbling of angels and God and Heaven and how sorry he was for the fire and for everything. Then after one feverish bout, when he was wide-eyed and sitting up in the bed and staring straight ahead at something, his lips suddenly shaped into that yellow smile and he collapsed back and closed his eyes and he was gone. I fell upon his body. I’ve never cried so much.

I miss him so much, although I’ve had several vivid dreams about him since, and I am positive that he is not really dead. The dreams were too coincidental, the communication too clear. But he saved my life. And he helped me to get on the path to find who I am again. I will always be grateful for everything he did, or does, for me.

Alex is okay. I am due to meet him next week for a coffee. As for the other patients, I can’t yet bring myself to see any of them again. It is still too fresh, and every day and every night I see it all before me- The basement. Its darkness. The fire and the bodies burning. The patients diving and falling out of the windows, while everyone screams around me. Some of those patients as they were on the ward, and Sanders lifeless face terrorized under the moonlight. I hear the pig-like squeals of the inspector and see him begging for mercy.  I am getting private therapy from a psychologist, and trying to work on myself. It is hard though. Harder than ever.

But helping other people helps me to feel better. And especially with kids. If I could have just one wish, it wouldn’t be for me. It would be that no other child ever has to suffer like I have.

I’m trying to get better, and I’ve thrown myself into volunteering. Doing the work you would do for free is really the only thing that matters, and I have been doing a lot of conservation stuff with woodland charities, including Trees For Life, that charity that is helping to restore Glen Affric. I will never give birth to a child of my own, but the trees that I plant; they are my children. The man on the street is my brother, the woman my sister, every child is part of me, and every child is my child and I am responsible for them.

Just now I’m sitting on a grassy slope in Aberdeenshire, overlooking the vast blue expanse of the North Sea, and the scenic, fantastical beauty of Dunnotar castle. It’s June and the weather is lovely, and the high sun is catching the castle's old stone walls and lighting it all up resplendently as it sits perched on that little island that rises dramatically out of the sea. Eilidh and Kayley, the two little girls that I am looking after just now, are running up the hill towards me. They are so cute and happy. Big, beautifully innocent, delighted smiles are etched on their little angel faces, their wee arms pumping as they race each other. Their long hair is blowing freely in the wind and-

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I was in the middle of writing that when it came down from the sky. The burning, searing drops of what they’re calling a new kind of acid rain. The girls screamed as it torched their skin, and I picked them up in my arms and ran as fast as I could to shelter. Thankfully, they’re okay. I am too. But that was the third shower of it in the space of two months. Many people are staying inside, locking themselves in their homes, for fear of going out and being caught in it.

There has been more of the showers recently, and they are getting more and more frequent. Some people have died. I really do think it is nature talking to us, telling us that we need to change and to stop what we are doing. That we have to listen this time.

I hope that we do. I still have a lot of hope. I really believe that things can get better, for us, and for the environment. That we can come together and connect and grow, and evolve. Nature is intelligent. There is no such thing as death. And there really is something bigger than us all, whatever it is you call it.

That’s it on again. The hot rain drumming against the other side of the windowpane as I watch from the living room couch. The trees outside are hushing as