Tom Misuraca
Tom Misuraca
Over 160 of Tom Misuraca's short stories and two novels have been published. His story, Giving Up The Ghosts, was published in Constellations Journal, and nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. His work has recently appeared in Exquisite Death, The Southern Quill and SIAMB! Editors Picks Flavors and Futures for Paris Ass Bookfair, 2025. He is also a multi-award winning playwright with over 170 short plays and 14 full-lengths produced globally. His musical, Geeks!, was produced Off-Broadway in May 2019.
I was awoken by the siren. Not an ambulance or cop or fire siren, more like an airhorn warning about air raids (which I’d only heard in old movies). Even here in the land of earthquakes, tsunamis and devastating forest fires, I’d never been awakened by such a sound.
Three loud, deep bursts. Exploding through the morning silence (or as silent as it can get in L.A.) I first suspected it was a dream. But by the third room-shaking burst, I knew it was real.
Further confirmed by my phone blowing up with friends texting to ask if I’d heard that. Or if I knew what it was. Messages from my neighborhood apps also flooded my phone. For once, they’re questions about a mysterious noise didn’t come off as idiotic. (Those sounds are never gunshots or explosions, they’re fireworks.)
Maybe we were all idiotic because none of us were taking shelter. We were too focused on solving this mystery through our phones.
The theories rolled in fast and furiously: major earthquake coming, civil war uprising, nuclear launch from North Korea. Still, I made my coffee and opted to have a banana rather than intermittently fast, in case I needed the energy to flee for my life.
Social media was nosier than ever (that’s saying a lot these days). Local friends all claiming they heard it. Out of town friends wondering how we could live in this crazy place.
News outlets mentioned it in passing, as if it were a human interest story, not a chime of potential doom (which surprised me, frankly). Granted there were more important things happening that made better, more devastating headlines.
The next morning, there were five blasts at 7:08. Same time as the day before.
This time we demanded answers. From who exactly, I don’t know.
“These sirens need to stop now!”
“Better siren laws.”
“If you’re not posting about the sirens, then you’re part of the problem.”
Then the memes. Some were making fun of the sirens, others the people of L.A. “Just start sleeping through it like earthquakes.”
“It’s the Kardashian alarm clock.”
“Time for the whole state to fall into the ocean.”
I was getting tired of friends asking, “So what about those sirens?” The conversation had already been beaten to death on social media. You couldn’t scroll for more than thirty seconds without seeing a mention of it. But still, my friends had to bring it up.
They didn’t like when I wasn’t as outraged by them as they were.
“So you’re just going to accept them?”
“What else can I do?”
Some people formed groups to go out and search for the sirens, but (despite the many fake social media posts) none of them found a cause.
“Pressure your congressmen to get to the bottom of it.”
“Aren’t they already doing that?”
Our elected officials claimed to be investigating. Not that they ever shared any discoveries. Or solutions.
“They need to do more. We all need to do more to end this madness.”
Most of my friends were worked up over the sirens. I worried they were going to give themselves a heart attack. I wouldn’t doubt if there were a rise in cardiac issues since the sirens started.
Every day there was a new list of conspiracies and angry posts on social media. But without anything new to share, the sirens became boring. Routine even.
I began waking up before the unwanted alarms. Once I heard them, I tried to fall back asleep. Most days I couldn’t, so I started my day. Which hadn’t changed in the slightest. I’d check in on my parents in the morning. Give my cat her shot. Work. Check in on my parents in the evening. Give my cat her shot. The sirens weren’t going to change any of this.
Yes, they were annoying. But once they blasted, it was over. Still, many people held on to it all day long. And were probably losing sleep over it.
One morning, I sat up in bed, waiting for the sirens.
After a moment, I looked at my watch. 7:12. They were late today.
I got up, opened my window and listened.
Nothing.
The sirens didn’t sound that morning. As I went through my routine, social media exploded over the absence of sirens. Was this a fluke?
When they didn’t sound the next day, there was a sense of relief. But people still wanted to know the who, what, where and why of the sirens. And what it meant that they’d stopped so suddenly. I barely had time to read all the theories.
Within a week, they were forgotten. The world moved on to the next trauma.
While I continued to care for my declining parents, say goodbye to my dying cat and go every day to my boring job that didn’t make me enough money to live.
At least it wasn’t the sirens that kept me awake.