She woke up to survey the wreckage. All burnt to a crisp, the area where trees once stood is now where the brown leaves flourish. Where the buildings full of populated civil servants were, has been transformed into a hot spot for mindless cannibalism, and a barbaric wasteland. Her gloves were still firmly on her hand. Her beehive style hair, her wondrous eyes- like a deer stuck in the headlights, and enjoying it. Her glasses had a fur design on it like a cat's, and a thin black dress covered her body in a velvety manner.
She was floating like a feather in an absence. The coma didn't do her good. It didn't do the fashion industry any good either. Her smile was the selling point; her over-sized cigarette still rests between her fingers, like a femme fatale through and through. Her life was full of memory of sheer celebration. She promised us great films but became a fashion icon on top of her success. Her multi-thousand pound bag gives her mystique away to holy eyes.
Beside her was a nurse, still and motionless. Her eyes didn't even dare to move, like a lion reluctantly waiting to pounce on prey. The nurse wore a standard attire for a nurse, yet she had neither cap nor a sense of reality. Her eyes were still not flickering.
The recently awakened woman looked at the window to see nothing had changed. She was still cautious with her steps, and she had no knowledge of how she got there in the first place. All she remembered were the shots, the camera, and the paranoid director. Her co-actor's tantrums, as well as endless retakes, dominated her brain when it was last active. Shooting had finished and she went upstairs for a nap. She never woke up until now.
The survivor, as glamorous as she may look, couldn't believe her eyes. The city district was shut off, and the thick colour of smoke covered the once standing trees. She took one final gaze outside, until she sarcastically said these words:
"This is what happens when I leave Hollywood for two seconds."
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