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A bright day. It's warm with a mild breeze.

My little brother walks beside me. He is nine; I am nine years his senior.

He chatters tirelessly. I smile and nod to acknowledge I'm listening; I'm only half-listening though. My thoughts flutter forward to what I'll be doing later-- where I'll go and who'll I'll see. The image of a smiling chestnut-haired girl lingers in my mind.

We come to a crosswalk.

"Hold my hand when we cross, kay?" I say to him. He says okay and continues chatting.

We stand at the corner for some time, waiting for our signal.

It never comes.

A sudden darkness, like a passing cloud or plane, eclipses everything. We look up. The sky is not blue, but red.

Profound silence replaces the former street sounds. People exit their cars to stare. An eerie stillness, then--an explosion of noise!

I feel myself flung into the air.

I crash onto the ground ten or fifteen feet away from where I was standing. The world vibrates around me. I become deaf in an instant. My thoughts turn into a mush. I feel encased in searing heat--dry, unbearable, toxic.

I reach for my little brothers hand. I fumble in my personal blindness until I touch someone's fingers. They're warm and dry. They're unattached from their owner.

I feel light-headed. I try moving more, but pain swarms my legs, neck, and chest. I feel stiff. I try one more time to sit up, but I can't. I'm weak and sleepy.

Unconsciousness finally swallows me.