The nuclear armillary sphere.

December 3, 2010

I had a strange dream last night:

I am in my new home: a high rise apartment that has just been renovated and not fully decorated yet. My friend Chris and I are hanging out and UFC is on the tv. I grab a book from my shelf to look something up we had been debating and as I sit on the bed, the tv is interrupted with a message stating “There is a light coming for the United States.” and the tv immediately goes back to the fight. Chris and I look at each other, a little confused and head to the balcony. Sure enough, we see a light in the night sky that is not a plane or a satellite or star.

Another warning comes on the tv but this time the individual is talking directly to Chris and I, warning us to take shelter immediately. Creeped out, we head for a table sitting next to my bed (which happens to be in the living room). Somehow, under this table I can see outside and the light takes shape into what looks like a missile. Another one soars up next to it, chasing it in circles. After a few minutes pass, which turn out to be years, both missiles disappear and a loud explosion is heard. A vibrantly colored armillary sphere manifests in their place, emitting a shockwave in every direction, flattening smaller buildings and tearing out the windows and beams of the taller ones. A horrifying scene unfolds before my eyes: every living being down on the street is burnt alive & vaporized.

I get out from under the table to look for my friend and see him at the head of my bed and grab his leg, pulling him toward me, saving him from a falling metal beam. The noises coming from outside my apartment sound like the other apartments are collapsing, and, remembering my girlfriend, I run to hers. It is pitch black inside and The only thing to be heard is her breathing. Eventually I get to her and as I reach out to touch her, she lights up, as if only her body has sunlight shining on it. She’s curled into a ball with her hands over her head and locked down by the enormous metal beams from the ceiling. They are so heavy. Veins push my skin up as I slowly life each one off of her, gritting my teeth and yelling for her to hang on. After removing them, she jumps into my arms burying her face into my neck as I carry her to my apartment and set her on my bed. Her wounds heal within minutes.

Over by the balcony, White House correspondents are swarming, talking on their cell phones, camera lights flashing and it is mass mayhem. President Obama emerges from the thick of reporters, briskly walking to the door leading out into the hallway, giving short answers to their many questions. I look down at my chest and notice I am wearing a name badge as well. A reporter throws me his cell phone and says “It’s China, for you”.

“Hello..?”

“Alec this is Grandpa, what the hell is going on??”

“I……something bad has just happened….everybody is……there are so many bodies….”

I break down and sob hysterically as I run to the door of my place, too overwhelmed by seeing the hundreds and hundreds of people below me torn apart by the explosion. The media gets word to get out of the building and we all run as fast as we can….panic replaces the oxygen we had been breathing.

As soon as I step foot outside, another explosion rips through the night, the shockwave rumbling through the streets and throwing me through an airborne mini van while it flips from being thrown back against the building next to it. Darkness. Everything sounds far away and hollow. My ears are ringing and my head feels like it has a vice wrapped around it and is being tapped by a hammer.

Eventually, I get up but it’s hard to walk; to react. I stumble left and right, sick to my stomach. All strength leaves my legs and I collapse onto my knees and vomit. The smell of the cooked vehicles fill my nostrils–soot, gasoline, and charred metal. I taste iron and am bleeding heavily from the side of my head and my arms. Sirens of all kinds can be heard wailing in the distance, sounding lost, not knowing where to go first.

The sun comes out, turning the night into day. Everything looks even worse now, 9 hours later. I must have gone unconscious during the night. The muffled but distinct “wump” of large helicopters sounds off in the distance. National Guard. No more than a mile away are men in yellow and light green suits, slowly sifting through the wreckage, likely looking for survivors. Through the fog filling my thoughts, I make out some sets of foot steps close by.

“Man down!!”

The response teams ahead of me look up and run toward me. A strong set of arms lifts me up and someone slips a pill of some sort in my mouth, followed by the flow of water from a bottle.

“You’re going to be alright, lad!” says one of the rescue members.

“Damn lucky, this kid is.” says another.

The last thing I think of is if I should go in to work or not and then everything goes dark. I wake up.

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