You see, my dearest of all logs, I actually wanted to start this entry with much love and much happiness. Pointing out I'm loving my life at the moment. Probably something along the lines of:
"Oh my god, everything is just perfect at the moment, everything is smooth and nice. It's going well with John, even though we don't see each other as often as I'd like, and it's going well will that little present inside me. Damn, I can even feel a slight bulge with my hands. All of my friends are alright, I'm safe, and I'm living my life, hell yeah!"
Well, what I didn't expect was that the moment I woke up, I saw an impending message from John. I had asked him whether he's alright - you know, after this skirmish in Leeds where his ship, the LNS-Milwaukee, got blown up by Gauls. It was actually intended a message to show care, but not to show real fear something could have happened.
Now, guess what reply I got this morning? "Blah blah ... but the recipient is currently not able to read it". And the damn message came from the New London Bridge Hospital, for Christ's sake. Self-explanatory this is in no way something I like to read. The words "hospital" and "currently not able to read" imply something really, really bad. Oh man, I planned on having a nice breakfast here on 96 Slide, chattering with Alec a bit, but if this really is how it is, I will have to hop in my Sabre and visit him ASAP.
I'm afraid. And not just a bit. These could be my worst nightmares becoming true.
