A Event of Nuclear Proportions

He was sleeping when the bomb went off.
The explosion didn’t wake him, he was a heavy sleeper.
No, what woke him was the body that went flying through his window, only to slam against the wall, leaving a trail of blood and an arm lying on the bed.
A fucking arm.
He ran into his bathroom, lay down against the wall. He didn’t know what to do.
He opened the door just enough to get a view of the mushroom cloud that was forming outside.
He was about to close his door when a missile fired through his roof, through his floor, on to the ground a few feet in front of the apartment complex, the explosion shattered his only intact windows, and sent everything in sight flying in all directions.
In the air, he hit his head on the bottom of a car.
He didn’t wake up for seven weeks.

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