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There was an impending volcano about to erupt somewhere near my house. Driving around at one point, we saw a large hole in the ground on the side of the road, and it was clearly emitting immensely heated air. I was very certain that there would soon be great suffering in the city of Buffalo. Eventually, from within my living room, I saw and heard the eruption exploding over the horizon in the northwest, right in the heart of downtown. Despite it being fairly distant, the airborne lava still appeared to be moving very quickly. The streets of my neighborhood were rapidly flooding with a sheet of lava several centimeters deep. It started out orange, and soon became pure black, making it look like the roads were just newly paved, but haphazardly so. Looking back out the window toward the eruption, more violent and loud now, I saw what at first looked like snowflakes falling, but darker. I announced to my dad in an alarming tone, "here comes the ash," stretching the length of the word "ash." A little while later, which may have been a few days, everyone was indeed suffering from famine and starvation. Most of the time, since shortly before the eruption, I had been yelling frantically and often incoherently into my cell phone to relatives and friends. I wanted to warn everyone that they needed to evacuate, but no one seemed to fully acknowledge the impending danger. During the famine, many babies had died, and someone showed me a television that displayed news footage of a family resorting to eating one of the deceased babies for survival. I turned away just as I saw them begin to cut it apart. There was no blood. I announced that it was not necessary for me to see that.