Then, all of a sudden, everything went silent. The forks and spoons stopped clinking. The soft thump-thump-thump of the waiters’ footsteps could no longer be heard. All around me, the people froze, forks bearing pieces of meat or vegetables making it only halfway to their mouths. No more chatter in the dining hall. In fact, not a peep.
A high-pitched, sharp whistling sound cut right through the air. I could recognize that sound from anywhere.
For a moment, the silence held.
And then pandemonium erupted.
Some made mad dashes for the exits. They wouldn’t make it. Some tried to call for help, getting on their phones and punching in numbers, not caring who they were calling. After months of waiting in limbo, it was over.
New York City would be the first casualties of a devastating world war.
The nuclear missile struck.
A whirlwind of noise shot through my ears. The area lit up with evil light. A blast of force knocked me off my feet and to the floor halfway across the restaurant. Fire ravaged across the ceiling, raining debris around me. Gas filled my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. A knife cut across my heart, my chest convulsing in pain. I tried to stand up.
I couldn’t.
Suddenly the world was alight with flame. An orb of fire hovered across my vision. I tried to stay low. Tried to run. Tried to protect myself.
I couldn’t.
Heat seared across my face. My once-black-and-white tux was now completely scorched. And smoke was rearing like a black dragon, swallowing everyone and everything around me.
I looked up. A chunk of chandelier and burning ceiling material hurtled towards me. My body went slack. My chest tightened with fear. I tried to take one last breath.
I couldn’t.
My world lit up with colors I had never viewed before, and suddenly, I was floating above the Grand Regency Dining Hall in New York. I was looking at the mushroom cloud rising above the city, darkening the clouds. I was listening to the sounds of destruction as buildings burned, houses crumpled, cars exploded, and humans died. I was floating higher and higher. I was flying, nearing the pace of the rising mushroom cloud. I was surrounded by clouds of smoke and fire.
I was dead.
A high-pitched, sharp whistling sound cut right through the air. I could recognize that sound from anywhere.
For a moment, the silence held.
And then pandemonium erupted.
Some made mad dashes for the exits. They wouldn’t make it. Some tried to call for help, getting on their phones and punching in numbers, not caring who they were calling. After months of waiting in limbo, it was over.
New York City would be the first casualties of a devastating world war.
The nuclear missile struck.
A whirlwind of noise shot through my ears. The area lit up with evil light. A blast of force knocked me off my feet and to the floor halfway across the restaurant. Fire ravaged across the ceiling, raining debris around me. Gas filled my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. A knife cut across my heart, my chest convulsing in pain. I tried to stand up.
I couldn’t.
Suddenly the world was alight with flame. An orb of fire hovered across my vision. I tried to stay low. Tried to run. Tried to protect myself.
I couldn’t.
Heat seared across my face. My once-black-and-white tux was now completely scorched. And smoke was rearing like a black dragon, swallowing everyone and everything around me.
I looked up. A chunk of chandelier and burning ceiling material hurtled towards me. My body went slack. My chest tightened with fear. I tried to take one last breath.
I couldn’t.
My world lit up with colors I had never viewed before, and suddenly, I was floating above the Grand Regency Dining Hall in New York. I was looking at the mushroom cloud rising above the city, darkening the clouds. I was listening to the sounds of destruction as buildings burned, houses crumpled, cars exploded, and humans died. I was floating higher and higher. I was flying, nearing the pace of the rising mushroom cloud. I was surrounded by clouds of smoke and fire.
I was dead.