The immense rumble from the ground sent fright through the hearts of everyone in a thousand-mile radius. The loud warning tone set free by the Emergency Broadcast System rang through every television and cell phone around. All sense of normal had escaped. Instructions were to stay where you are, avoid doorways and remain inside. Stop, drop and hold on to whatever was sturdiest around you.
I made my way through the debilitating shake, my arms spread out for balance, each step calculated in order to reach my kitchen table.
I crawled underneath it and began to pray, wondering if this was how the last minutes of my life would unfold.
I watched the clock, seconds ticked by before it plunged to the ground, next went my late grandmother’s china, and then her oak cabinet. I intertwined my fingers, placing my hands on the back of my neck. I could see the foundation split beneath me like a crooked line of death. The roof began to buckle. I was sure to suffocate in my own home… and alone.
Six minutes it lasted, a nearly unheard of six minutes. I dug from underneath the rubble, coughing and spitting dust from my mouth. I shook the mortar from my hair and wiped it from my clothing. Debris particles floated through the air, assuming they were harmful, I pulled my shirt over my face, leaving my eyes uncovered. I could see my front door, perfectly conditioned, only now resting sideways. Unable to open it with my hands, I laid on my back, placed my feet against it, and with the strength from my legs, pushed it open. The bright sun immediately blinded me. Helicopters flew frantically against the cloudless sky; sirens overwhelmed my ears.
I emerged from my hillside cave, thankful to be alive.
Leesa Writes 