A familiar voice!
I opened my eyes carefully. The harsh desert light flooded in, bringing on a fresh bout of nausea.
Damn. I'm still here.
The heat was intense, and a brief gust of wind felt like a blast furnace on my skin. The girders of the tower felt uncomfortable, pressing painfully against a bruised back. For a moment I fought, uselessly, against my bonds before the heat and exertion took away my remaining strength.
All discomfort, I suppose, is transitory. Soon the sand would be turned to glass, and I, together with the small amount of brown vegetation around me, would be turned to vapour.
Looking up, squinting against the sun, I could see the silent silhouette of the bomb against the bright noon sky.
As with so many stories, it began with a girl...