Lila Fernandez, 27
Aromatherapist
I knew there was a problem when everyone died and my iPhone stopped working. Which was a drag because it was just out of warranty. By, like, a day. Isn't that always the way? It's like they plan it.
It all happened super-fast. A high-pitched noise and then a higher-pitched noise and then a dark swarm of something-or-other met an even darker swarm of whatever and then there were a bunch of explosions and then everything was on fire. The windows were blown in and little shards of glass went everywhere. Luckily, I was able to dive behind my new sofa. It's crocodile leather. Very durable.
Lying facedown on the floor, I couldn't see what was going on, but I heard a lot of screaming and felt the heat pouring into my condo through the shattered windows. I also found an earring that didn't look familiar. Hm.
I tried to get on Twitter to learn what was happening, but like I said, my iPhone was just a lifeless black slab in a sparkly case. Everyone told me, "Lila, get Applecare," and I was like, "That's a huge waste of money." Well, they'd be having the last laugh now. Except, you know.
And then everything went quiet. Ish. There was still the crackling of fires and some random moaning, but no more explosions and the high-pitched sounds were gone. I stayed down for a few more minutes, just to be safe, and also to examine this god damn mystery earring.
Looking around my condo, all my electronics were blown to heck. My HD TV, my DVR, my microwave. Phillipa had her work seriously cut out for her when she came on Tuesday. I'm sure she'd complain that I wasn't paying her enough (what else is new?) but between the fifty bucks in cash and the stuff she steals, she makes out fine.
Then I went outside. It was even worse than inside.
I just stood there with my mouth open, like "whaaaat?"
Fashionable Silver Lake looked like one of those terrorists countries we're always bombing, with collapsed buildings and severed limbs and automobiles turned into twisted metal. Probably a lot more Teslas and Mini-Coopers than you'd see in downtown Yemen (if there is such a thing) but it was the same idea.
Also, there were tiny fragments of hard plastic all over the street, some gray, some black. I picked up a piece, closed my left eye and held it in front of my right (obviously). I examined it closely. "Yup," I thought. "That's a plastic fragment all right."
I heard some whimpering and then I saw this guy on the ground. He had one of those stupid little triangles of hair just below his lower lip. He was, I don't know, forty? Fifty? There was a lot of blood and some of his insides were on his outside, so it was hard to tell.
"Ma'am," he said weakly. "Can you help me?"
"I'm afraid not," I said, and not because he called me ma'am, even though that's a major pet peeve of mine, but because there was nothing I could do. I'm not a doctor, I don't know first aid and as I already mentioned, my stupid iPhone wasn't working, so I couldn't call emergency services, which is something I totally would have done, because I am nothing if not compassionate. Although looking off into the distance, everything as far as the eye could see looked as bad as my street, so I wasn't even sure there were emergency services any more.
"What?!" He was surprised and angry and I really couldn't blame him. He'd had a really terrible afternoon.
I smiled apologetically. "Sorry!" Then I added, "But I hope you feel better!"
"Anyone ever tell you," he wheezed, "that you're a bitch?"
Wow. That was uncalled for. I'm a very positive person and I really wasn't comfortable around all this negative energy. So I decided to do the mature thing and just walk away.
And by the way, my mom is called ma'am. Not me.
I went back inside and slammed the door behind me. "Breathe, Lila!" I told myself. Normally, I would have burned some sage, but enough things were already burning and I didn't want to add to the smoke.
I locked the deadbolt even though I knew it didn't matter. But it made me feel secure and I needed to feel secure. It felt like my whole world was gone. I sat down on my crocodile sofa and jumped back up. I pulled a tiny piece of glass out of my ass. Then I started to cry, in part because my ass hurt, but also because it slowly dawned on me that Phillippa probably wouldn't be coming on Tuesday.