Tacos, Tapatío and Terror

It came to me as a high, whining sound, the kind of sound that only a dying jet engine can make as it falls to earth. I had jus’ stepped out of a business when I heard it, looked up and watched as a T-38 Talon trainer came rocketing vertically into the center of the parking lot.

The aircraft didn’t explode upon impact. Instead the crash came with a deafening roar and air-blast that knocked me down and blew me into the street.

Instead of erupting into flame, a small static discharge lept from the craft, zapping me, rendering me too weak to get up and continue running. Seconds later that firework sparkler-like discharge became a complete conflagration as a detonation finally took place.

All around me I saw people suddenly bursting into flames, the feathers of birds began to burn as they flopped about. This was quickly followed by trees, cars and buildings spontaneously exploding into a firestorm.

By this time I was laying in the gutter, between the sidewalk and street. But it was not enough, as I felt myself becoming engulfed by the hot tongues of flame that danced over my body.

This is how I woke up this morning: trying to capture my breath and understand that I wasn’t really on fire. It was nothing more than another night-terror, this time aided by a meal of two tacos and a dose of Tapatío before bedtime.

I’ve not been back to sleep…

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