James Nix dashed down the hallway as his building began to crumble. He’d quickly raced out of his office when the shaking began, knowing it could mean no good. Looking upwards, he saw he was right: cracks were forming in the ceiling, dust was sprinkling down — James knew his building wasn’t the only one affected. Chaos was reigning abnormally throughout the city; no doubt an earthquake, as they frequently occurred in this part of the country. However, this one seemed significantly more lethal and severe, enough to cause fatal damage to everything.
The atmosphere in the once calm hallways was now apprehensive and fearful: people were panicked and frightened. Many had never seen disaster in their life, not as James had. Worry abruptly jolted through him, and he balled a hand into a fist, plowing through the clumpy lines of evacuating people, paying them no mind. Instead, he decidedly veered away from the emergency exits, heading in the opposite direction.
James’s thoughts bounced around frenetically. He couldn’t leave his home — his family — behind. Urgency gripped his mind, and James set himself to determination, ignoring his shaking, sweaty hands and dry throat.
He still had time.
The precarious building swayed under his feet. James ran, trying to stay focused. Recently, he’d become a somber, poignant man; bags had formed under his brown eyes and some gray strands even poked out of his hair, giving the impression that he was overworked and unhappy. Though he was on the younger side, with a good amount of years left, he carried around a sense of prolonged dread, as if he’d encounter his death at any moment in the upcoming future.
Fire. James heard it before he smelled it — the dooming crackling sound came before the sharp tang of ash and smoke, a scent he knew too well. All around, uncontrollable flames enveloped everything. James ran into a plume of smoke and came out coughing and squinting. He threw his thick-rimmed glasses on the ground, the lenses now covered in soot and dust, revealing piercing orange eyes — not, in fact, the dull brown they had seemed to be before.
It was too late. The building was half demolished by now, so he hoped with whatever he had that his family was okay. He heard the floor splinter and crack, felt the heat of a blistering fire, and it was getting harder to breathe or see. But he was so close . . . just a little bit further . . . he had to keep trying for them.
Rounding one last corner, he spotted the aquamarine colored door at the end of the hallway. Putting his arms to protect his head as he neared and slowed to a stop, James kicked the door open feebly. Doubt seeped into the corners of his mind. Where were they?
The door swung open with a familiar, rusty creak, and James held his breath.
The apartment was destroyed. Flipped chairs, leaking pipes, smoking pieces of wood, and a huge chunk of the room missing, a cliff into the outside city. James could hardly tell that it was the place he was so familiar with.
And yet . . . it was empty.
James’s heart plummeted. He was too late.
He stood frozen, refusing to leave. All James could do was stare at the wreck. It was too late, too late to save anyone, even himself. His family was gone — dead, probably — so what was the point in attempting anything anymore?
The building shook more, with ferocity and extremeness that told him it was seconds away from collapse. James only stood there, frozen. He smelled fire, stronger this time, and when he looked down at his arm, his skin was smoking and starting to blacken, flames taking over his hand. He felt nothing: no pain, only remorse. James blinked his orange eyes, and a tear slid out before he closed them again.
A shiver passed through the large building, and it rumbled once more. In a crumbling mess, it had fallen.
The once powerful city was now a junkyard, with heaping piles of debris and rubble scattered everywhere. Fragments of doors and windows could be spotted, as well as clothing and silverware. Most people had either evacuated or had fallen with the city, and it was quiet, maybe even somewhat peaceful in this aftermath of the disaster. Scorched wood lay everywhere, and the air was filled with smoke and dust.
Suddenly, a twitch. A slight movement in a pile of rubble. Unusual, since anything in the wreckage should’ve clearly been dead, yet there it was again — a rock cascaded off the pile of debris. Then, a large noise, and out emerged a mysterious figure.
His skin smoother and cheeks more full, looking a little different; but it was James, he simply appeared younger. Unruly hair fell into his orange eyes, which seemed to be searching for something as he got up, brushed the ashes and dirt off and walked around, eyes probing the ground.
James bent over to pick them up. He stoically placed his glasses, the ones he’d dropped earlier in his frantic rush, on the bridge of his nose, not seeming to mind the large crack that spiderwebbed through them. Instantly, like a filter, his eyes turned a regular, normal brown. Satisfied, James tilted his head up to look at the sun, which shone brightly through the clouds of dust.
He picked up a piece of wood and began to rebuild.
The atmosphere in the once calm hallways was now apprehensive and fearful: people were panicked and frightened. Many had never seen disaster in their life, not as James had. Worry abruptly jolted through him, and he balled a hand into a fist, plowing through the clumpy lines of evacuating people, paying them no mind. Instead, he decidedly veered away from the emergency exits, heading in the opposite direction.
James’s thoughts bounced around frenetically. He couldn’t leave his home — his family — behind. Urgency gripped his mind, and James set himself to determination, ignoring his shaking, sweaty hands and dry throat.
He still had time.
The precarious building swayed under his feet. James ran, trying to stay focused. Recently, he’d become a somber, poignant man; bags had formed under his brown eyes and some gray strands even poked out of his hair, giving the impression that he was overworked and unhappy. Though he was on the younger side, with a good amount of years left, he carried around a sense of prolonged dread, as if he’d encounter his death at any moment in the upcoming future.
Fire. James heard it before he smelled it — the dooming crackling sound came before the sharp tang of ash and smoke, a scent he knew too well. All around, uncontrollable flames enveloped everything. James ran into a plume of smoke and came out coughing and squinting. He threw his thick-rimmed glasses on the ground, the lenses now covered in soot and dust, revealing piercing orange eyes — not, in fact, the dull brown they had seemed to be before.
It was too late. The building was half demolished by now, so he hoped with whatever he had that his family was okay. He heard the floor splinter and crack, felt the heat of a blistering fire, and it was getting harder to breathe or see. But he was so close . . . just a little bit further . . . he had to keep trying for them.
Rounding one last corner, he spotted the aquamarine colored door at the end of the hallway. Putting his arms to protect his head as he neared and slowed to a stop, James kicked the door open feebly. Doubt seeped into the corners of his mind. Where were they?
The door swung open with a familiar, rusty creak, and James held his breath.
The apartment was destroyed. Flipped chairs, leaking pipes, smoking pieces of wood, and a huge chunk of the room missing, a cliff into the outside city. James could hardly tell that it was the place he was so familiar with.
And yet . . . it was empty.
James’s heart plummeted. He was too late.
He stood frozen, refusing to leave. All James could do was stare at the wreck. It was too late, too late to save anyone, even himself. His family was gone — dead, probably — so what was the point in attempting anything anymore?
The building shook more, with ferocity and extremeness that told him it was seconds away from collapse. James only stood there, frozen. He smelled fire, stronger this time, and when he looked down at his arm, his skin was smoking and starting to blacken, flames taking over his hand. He felt nothing: no pain, only remorse. James blinked his orange eyes, and a tear slid out before he closed them again.
A shiver passed through the large building, and it rumbled once more. In a crumbling mess, it had fallen.
The once powerful city was now a junkyard, with heaping piles of debris and rubble scattered everywhere. Fragments of doors and windows could be spotted, as well as clothing and silverware. Most people had either evacuated or had fallen with the city, and it was quiet, maybe even somewhat peaceful in this aftermath of the disaster. Scorched wood lay everywhere, and the air was filled with smoke and dust.
Suddenly, a twitch. A slight movement in a pile of rubble. Unusual, since anything in the wreckage should’ve clearly been dead, yet there it was again — a rock cascaded off the pile of debris. Then, a large noise, and out emerged a mysterious figure.
His skin smoother and cheeks more full, looking a little different; but it was James, he simply appeared younger. Unruly hair fell into his orange eyes, which seemed to be searching for something as he got up, brushed the ashes and dirt off and walked around, eyes probing the ground.
James bent over to pick them up. He stoically placed his glasses, the ones he’d dropped earlier in his frantic rush, on the bridge of his nose, not seeming to mind the large crack that spiderwebbed through them. Instantly, like a filter, his eyes turned a regular, normal brown. Satisfied, James tilted his head up to look at the sun, which shone brightly through the clouds of dust.
He picked up a piece of wood and began to rebuild.