Earthquake: An old fifth grade project

“The Most Amazing Stories Have a Twist, For Better or Worse”

By
Isabel Babel

“The most amazing stories have a twist, for better or worse…” I said as I composed my thoughts.

It was a lifeless dawn.  But, as I reached for my friend, my typewriter, I would soon enter into a place filled with bliss, adventure and more.  I loved the feeling of the keys at my fingertips. Going into my writing was like going forth on a new and exciting journey each and every time.  As my day began it was running smoothly, but little did I realize then that some of the same type of horrific moments, similar to some of those found in my books, would actually occur.  I would soon begin a brand new adventure of my own, and not one I would ever have hoped to experience.

As I was writing I suddenly heard a rasping, rumbling sort of noise.  “Thunder, perhaps?” I thought, but as I glanced out of the window, the sky seemed quite clear.  Suddenly, the Earth underneath my feet rocked and swayed violently.  I tried keeping my balance as the ground buckled. Cracks and creases formed in the ground below me.  Luckily, I managed to reach the door.  With my typewriter under one arm, I heaved myself outside as my house fell down behind me.  Another jolt slammed, and I lost my footing.  I had a pang of pain in my left flank as I heard the sounds of shouting, collapsing, and crushing.  I could hear the distant ring of church bells-roaring like angered beasts.  These sounds rang and echoed in my ears. 

I got off the cobblestones, and I sprinted as best as I could to get out of harm’s way.  I was able to avoid crushed cable cars that had smoke pouring out of them as I forged ahead.  I quickly glanced at the nurses and police fighting hard to move the critically wounded people and find safe shelter from the ravished landscape.  As I soldiered on through the streets, the rumbling grew ever more fierce.  I tumbled and tasted the rising dirt but still hung on to my typewriter.  It was all I had left in the world.  Others that had tried to rescue items from their homes had not been so lucky.  Some never made it out.

That moment, I realized that every second wasted meant life or death.  I began to think, “I have lost much, but at least I’m alive.”                        

At last I had reached shelter, grateful that my typewriter had not had any severe damage. In that long day, people grieved over death, home loss, and even for each other.

As I looked at my typewriter, a glimmer of hope shone brightly in my heart.   I knew how I could help.  I told stories, tall tales, folklore, and fables to the survivors.  I told myths of brave heroes to inspire them to not give up.  The adults applauded, kids giggled and laughed, and older children gave kind comments.  I then knew once we came together, we could again achieve happiness.  

Then I smiled.  The brave deeds of the heroes of old would pale in comparison to the bravery I saw as the simple people of this devastated town worked to rebuild the lives they lost in the rubble.