Devil's Discord

I started my morning off with a normal cup of coffee and a complimentary existential crisis. Then the bomb went off. Next thing I knew, I was crawling around, screaming out names and searching for any sign of life. Every person I found was gone, dead as doornails. The social workers and rescue teams showed up hours later, only to find they were too late. They bombarded me with questions, asking anything that could help them figure out this catastrophic event. Nothing came out of those talks. Eventually, they quarantined the area as unsafe, packing up anything of interest or use, and then leaving. For the next few years, I was shuttled around the world, everyone wants to see the only survivor of the Tiksiva Cataclysm. My face became known around the world, the only remnant of an entire civilization. They call me Nesya, the Miracle. I'm under world protection twenty-four/seven and no where close to being normal. But this isn't what I deserve. I should have died with my people, and instead, I'm the face of their loss. Why? Because I'm the reason the bomb went off.