I am in downtown San Francisco. It is dark, stormy, nighttime. There are gangs running loose everywhere; it is anarchy.
While waiting to get across Market Street, I notice an apple tree growing in the sidewalk bulb-out at the corner. The tree is full of large, beautiful golden apples, and tiny birds are flitting about among the branches. The apples seem to be low enough enough to reach, and I wonder that the tree hasn't been picked clean yet.
I go to pick one of the apples, but on closer inspection I see that they are higher than at first glance and are out of my reach. As I notice this, gangs rush to the tree and swarm over it, preventing picking.
Then I notice things falling from the sky, coming down like snowflakes. They are dead people, on their backs, curled up with their feet in the air like dead bugs, all different people but falling in the same position. There are thousands of them, at first up high and far away but getting closer by the second. I run across the street looking for cover from the falling bodies.
Dodging a large crowd on the other side of the street I try to double back but run into a police roadblock. Emergency responders are clustered around something on the sidewalk, intently focused on an object the size of a car battery. A cop yells, Get away, we have a grenade here!
As I start to run across a deserted side street, a bang and a massive shower of blinding sparks issues from the object surrounded by the police, cutting a brilliant irregular arc of cold white light into the soft darkness. I am unhurt but shaken, and stop running. The rain of falling bodies gets closer and closer, and I begin to hear some of them hitting the ground.