Quaking

Hi Everyone! I wrote Quaking for my fiction class as part of a writing exercise. We were told to pick a news article and use it as a branching point for a scene. I came across this link and began writing. I hope you enjoy!

Quaking

Sometimes I worry about what could fall on my head or if I’ll come home one day to see my building shaking. I might reach the block and see my neighbors’ buildings in a heap upon the ground, or worse—them crushed to the concrete. Yet today, I didn’t wonder because my worry became the real thing.

I live with a fault line.

I was walking to my apartment from my office building. The sun was warm overhead and dogs ran through the parks. I saw people holding hands and cars rolling past. Then, I lost my balance.

I heard roaring like a cement truck, but still only cars rolled past. As I wobbled back atop my feet, I watched the dogs pause, noses to the air. My heart started pounding and I wished it would’ve stopped, for I think it sent vicious waves straight down the block.

Those waves of vengeful energy lifted the streets. They threw people down screaming and ripped the leaves off the trees.

I started running to my apartment, sick to think of impending doom, but I couldn’t stay in the open or my bones would be lost in engineering’s tomb.

I know this, because as the street stretched up, moaning, I watched the buildings dance side to side to the roar of dissonant music. I heard the people scream to make them stop, as if dance wasn’t soulful here, but of course they couldn’t. They wouldn’t.

They wanted to crumble, and crash they did.

From afar, I watched them shorten, buildings who once stopped the drifting clouds. They fainted from exertion or found it amusing to spread across the ground. They covered the displeased audience—my people.

Dust particles entered my nose, turning mucous to cement. I hoped it would cloud my vision of the horror ahead, but outside of our dreams, reality never quits.

Yet earthquakes do.

Only five blocks later and the turmoil ran its course. My city died in a heartbeat and I had to wonder.

I knew I should.

Could I leave my people crying, homeless within one small slice of the clock? Who will clean up the messes—all the dirt, blood, broken hearts?

I can’t help but think I had a premonition. I must’ve known what was to come, but I worried and now I wonder.

Would this still have been real had I told someone?