Thursday, February 21, 2013


You Wake up to horrible news. Your home area is blown to pieces.

You run to the phone, call every number you have for family members, aunts, uncles, cousins. No one answers. You start calling neighbors, friends, friends of friends, friends of neighbors. Nothing.

You run back to the TV, see the news coverage, then the Internet, more detailed coverage. Pictures of charred bodies in the streets.

You close your eyes.

You pick up the phone again, dial and count the endless beeps. No one answers. You go into the bathroom. Throw up your panic. Come out and watch more footage. Black smoke covers the screen. And then, a glimpse in the corner: part of a dwelling, a hole where your bedroom used to be.

You close your eyes again.

Stones, nothing more, you tell yourself. Not important. You run to the phone again, call friends who might know more, or have other sources of information.

The phone is useless.

You, standing in your living room thousands of miles away, are useless. You drop to the ground, double over and scream, then curse, then screams some more.

And finally, you break down and cry.

If you are lucky, the phone rings, or your computer beeps the arrival of a message from someone who made it and thought to let you know who’s injured, who’s not, and who won’t be coming home.

If you’re lucky.

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