Pick a house.

Any house.

Amy cruised slowly up the Golden Mile. On both sides of the road stately mansions stood, important and magnificent. Manicured berms either side of the road. Carefully landscaped gardens hid behind sharply cut hedges and rock walls and expensive fences. 

The choice was almost too much, but Amy relaxed. She was in charge now. She could do as she liked.

A large, two storey, pale brick house caught her eye. It looked new, posh, shiny. The electric gates were open, inviting. She ignored the security box and drove on in.

She parked the late model car untidily in the front drive and tried the heavy wooden front door. It yeilded. She stepped inside to a cream walled foyer. Amy gave a whoop of delight, rushed inside and explored the house from top to bottom.

As expected, it was empty of humans. A bewildered cat ran away from her enthusiastic grasp and disappeared out the open door. In the main bedroom, a photo of a middle-aged couple and three grown-up kids stood on the dressing table, this Amy threw out the window. "Piss Off!" she yelled after it. She paused when she found a photo of the woman of the house. A tall blonde woman, about her age but fantastically better looking, stared back at her with haughty brown eyes. "I've got your fancy home now, eh, bitch? What do you think of that?"

She searched the drawers, found a stash of money, but no drugs. Never mind. She counted the bills, two thousand and four hundred dollars. So rich they didn't even need this? "You had it good, girl. But I got it all, now. What's your name, love?"

Susan. She found it on an envelope. "Well, Susan, I'm hungry. Lets see what you left me in the fridge to eat."

The kitchen was glorious, clean, looked like it had never been used. The oven was spotless. 

"I'll soon fix that," Amy grinned. 

She went back to the car, took out the 'groceries' that she had aquired, set them out on the quartz bench. She shoved the roast into the oven, fried up some eye fillet steak as a starter, seasoning it with spices provided by her absent host. She added some mushrooms, onions and bacon courtesy of the fridge. 

She took the dripping meat over to the white leather couch in the living room and ate it with her fingers, never minding the juices that escaped from the plate. 

She turned on the telly, they were still broadcasting from the other end of the country. It was boring. All about the impending disaster. 

She flicked the channels, found a documentary on some third world country, and laughed at someone elses misfortune.

The end of the living room had closed curtains.

Amy ripped them open. 

The house was set on the edge of a cliff, and the windows were built to catch the best view of the ocean. The sea was deceptively still. There was a slight bubbling at the surface, far off, and a hint of smoke or steam. 

Amy set the photo of Susan so her image stared out to sea. "You and me can watch it all come down together, eh, baby? Now, a high class chick like you must have some decent wine. Ah, yes..." She took an expensive red from the rack, opened it with a pop and drank straight from the bottle.

"Smooth. Hah. They said I'd never amount to anything, eh, Susie? But look at me now, living in the most expensive digs, best wine, best steak, gonna try on your clothes next. And have me a nice hot bubble bath. Gonna sleep in your sheets tonight, babe. MMM. That roast smells GOOD!"

There was a sudden rumble, and a sharp jolt. The chandelier in the living room tinkled as it swayed violently. Somewhere a piece of furniture crashed. Amy stumbled and dropped the wine bottle. The red spread over the pale carpet like fresh blood.

"Maybe I better get started. I'm running out of time."

As she reached the bedroom, there was another jolt, with a longer rolling motion. 

Amy grabbed the colthes, flung on a beautiful satin dress. It was slighty too small for her portly figure, and Susan was a tall woman, but she got it on, admired herself in the mirror. She waddled back to the kitchen, hauled out the roast. It was  nice and rare, the way she liked it. She ate huge hunks, dribbling juice down the front of the dress, as the earthquakes came and came. Out at sea, the smoke was starting to billow, the waves were circular. It would not be long now. 

Amy grabbed Susan's photo and hugged it to her.

"I, Amy Robinson, Street Kid and Unemployed Alcoholic Bum, declare that I finished my days living in a mansion, not so shabby after all? SO THERE!" 

She stretched herself against the window, facing the sea. She screamed defiance as the volcano rumbled into life, screamed as it roared back at her, screamed until it destroyed her, the photo of Susan, the mansion, the cat, the Golden Mile, everything in it's vicinity.

Somewhere in the safety zone, a woman called Susan huddled with her husband at her oldest son's home, watching the distruction on T.V. She wept as her home was swept away, as her family gathered round to comfort her.

Somewhere in the safety zone, a church volunteer handed out blankets to the refugees from the disaster zone. She looked in vain for the homeless woman she'd known only as Amy. Maybe Amy had ended up in a different school hall? She hoped that Amy had made it. But there were too many people needing help right here, right now, to worry about one individual. So she carried on her duties, as people grasped her hands to show their gratitude.

Somewhere, what was left of Amy floated into the air. She had died with a smile on her lips, a material girl at last.