On Thursday, February the 13th, I woke up to a spark caught by the corner of my eye around 3:00 a.m. The past few nights had been relatively warm, but the previous night was particularly chilly, so I plugged in my cheap $50 Walmart heater into a power strip that was connected to another power strip connected to two surge protectors in an admittedly dangerous "daisy-chain sequence" connected to my bedroom wall. The problem was that ever since I moved into this location back in October 2016, little by little, more and more power outlets have stopped working.

Whether it be rats chewing through wires or my crappy electric company's inconsistent power output tripping the breaker, it's frequently been a problem. On this particular morning, it all came to a head, when one thing lead to another, likely triggered by the power output/requirement for the heater, and a spark from the power strip that both my heater and microwave were connected to, which quickly engulfed a large pack of paper towels in flames, which in seconds detonated a nearby can of deodorant, setting nearby clothes and scattered documents ablaze, along with at least one other aerosol can.

It all escalated extremely quickly and in my somewhat delirious state, awakened by the blaze, I proceeded to open bottles of water to deploy and quell the flame. When the smoke thickened and became overwhelming, I hastily rushed my dogs outside and put them in my out-of-commission SUV and flipped off the main power breaker for my 2nd-floor duplex unit. I ran back in and out several times to fight it and catch my breath, as the toxic gas was a tyrannical out-of-focus monster that seemed impossible to defeat in the darkness of pre-dawn. The fire and smoke had consummated into a suffocating and rapturous union.

Amidst running back and forth, up and down the stairs, lobbing whatever non-flammable liquids I could find to tame the beast and breathlessly trying to alert my downstairs neighbor to the dire circumstances, he told me to call the Fire Dept., which I did, though by the time they'd arrived, I was fairly certain I had finally quelled the flame, unaware of the scale of the damage cause by the ~15-20 minute reign of terror in the dim moonlight still shining through the translucent window.

The Fire Department went to work rampaging through my domicile like a ravaging band of thugs, unbeknownst to me until much later, as I was coerced into boarding the ambulance, initially fearful that there would be an outrageous bill waiting for me just for setting foot inside.

This whole time I was barefoot, mind you, as I didn't even have time to throw on a pair of chanclas in this fight-or-flight moment of suspense. I live in the middle of a muddy and rocky dirt lot, so all of that running in and out and literally trying to stomp out the flames was quite the miserable experience, not to mention my borderline-chronic asthma.

When the EMTs checked my vitals, the main factor of concern was that there was a 15% carbon monoxide level detected in my lungs, which I was told was at least 3x what is considered "safe" or "non-life-threatening". Still, I refused to go to the hospital, because who can afford that shit!? I allowed them to give me an oxygen treatment to try to flush out my lungs or whatever, somewhat cautiously, as a part of me suspected a possibility of attempted drugging to get me to the hospital to drown me in debt as the most modern means of euthanasia.

They eventually let me escape detention and after giving my perspective on the sequence of events, a fireman was gracious enough to escort me back inside the ruins by flashlight in a quest to rinse off my sullied feet in the bathtub and don my favorite pair of cheap plastic sandles.

They escorted me back outside after hiking over the soggy muck of filth and debris scattered about the floor. My precious stockpile of dried ramen noodles was gone with the wind.

The reassuring fireman who led me through hell and back went to grab me a couple of washcloths and paper towels as I cuddled my dogs for warmth in the cold SUV to comfort them as well as myself, telling them that everything is okay, and everything will be okay.

Thankfully, the walls didn't burn, and my downstairs neighbor's unit was completely untouched. I hadn't realized until sunrise that the firemen had yanked out my electric meter, along with my downstairs neighbor's, which seemed unnecessary. They smashed most of my windows, which they could have just opened, even though a couple were already damaged and patched up with tape and cardboard. They even broke the panels holding a window a/c unit in place, which now sits at a 30° angle, dangerously overlooking the next lot over.