The wooden floor under my bed tremors. My pillow vibrates. I lie still in my place, try to sleep. Please don’t give me dreams. It might as well be the end of the world but I’m not getting up any time soon. I’m probably making it up. If it’s all for real, do you feel it too? It all leads back to you.

I haven’t left my bed in a week and an earthquake is not going to change that. Mother Nature gave no shit about my pain so why should I care about hers? Think of it as a migraine and you’re on a stop light. 30 seconds or you die. You don’t let it make you cry. You don’t even have a cry face; you just tear up, shut an eye and move on with your day. It all leads back to you. But I. Am. Not. Moving.

The neighbors start screaming. Why must they screech their throats in search for a prayer? I haven’t spoken a word all day. The sound of bare feet hitting the concrete, they’re running away for good. The streets are going to swallow them whole. I can’t take the roars of panic searing outside my door. Good thing I can block the noise. Where are you?

I turn to my other side. I see nothing but the fading white of a wall. It keeps me company. There’s a sense of comfort knowing only one of us will survive this break of routine. I almost laugh and it almost returns me the favor.

I think the electricity died first, no TV sound in the background. And then the waterlines. Are you thirsty? I can smell the dusk but it should be noon by now.

I love this; the most action I’ve had in twenty years and it’s destructive. Nature is a queen in her rage and she’s claiming back her land, pronouncing us nomads—again. And this time too we have no say in it. Are you wearing shoes? The world is in flames but this is my own tiny heaven. It even has the iridescence of the faithful and the damned. Are you still here?

I pull my head under the sheets; maybe this makeshift veil will keep you from slithering stealthily into my minute place of bliss. I want to enjoy the moment. The walls are closing in, literally. I am eaten. My body is a mess. My skull crushed. I don’t even get to finish my last thou…

Pitch black, over the clouds, smoke and life.

Are you still alive?