I
sit huddled in the attic, the last safe place I could find in what remained of
my battered home. The wind howls outside and the rain is starting to come
through the already broken windows. I know that I can’t stay in here much
longer, for the roof is threatening to cave in with every gust of wind and wave
of rainfall pounding on the weakened structure. As I sit and try to come up
with an escape plan, I think back on the past few days and ponder what I could
have done differently to avoid this situation. I should have left when the
warnings were first given. After watching the news and seeing the predicted
strength of hurricane Sandy, I should have known that it wasn’t worth it for me
to stay and take my chances in such an old house like this one.
I know that regretting my
past actions won’t help my current situation, so instead I consider different
ways I could get out of the house and to safety. There is no way I can make it
downstairs and out the front door because the whole first level is completely
flooded. I could try to climb through the window and step out onto a tree
branch, but the wind is so forceful that the branches would undoubtedly snap as
soon as I set foot on them. After weighing my options for a minute or two, I
come to the conclusion the only chance I have at survival would be to climb up
onto the roof and hope a helicopter or rescue vehicle of some sort is able to
spot me and take me to safety.
After making my way up,
I gather what few possessions I was able to salvage and hug them close to me. I
have a sinking feeling that help may not arrive for hours or even days because
the streets are so flooded and debris from buildings and trees are blocking all
major roadways. I take a look around me and survey the rest of the houses in my
neighborhood. I noticed that most have severe damage, but there are very few
with more damage than mine. Most of my neighbors had evacuated just before the
storm had started, so I doubt that any of them would hear my desperate shouts
for help over the howling wind. Despite this, I shout anyway.
After what feels like
hours, I give up. I know that no one is coming and that I will most likely die
here, alone on my roof. My closest relatives live hours away, and although I know
they would help if they could, there is no way anyone would be able to get into
the state of New Jersey during this storm. Suddenly, I see a flash of color
through the dreary darkness of the storm. It is the man from across the street,
Jeff. He is looking out his window to see if the rain has slowed down at all. I
jump up and flail my arms while shouting his name. As soon as he sees me, he runs
for the door and wades through the flooded streets to my house. Just as he
reaches what used to be my front lawn, I hear a large snapping noise. I scan
the area in confusion and see a look of horror cross Jeff’s face. I turn to my
left and see that the giant tree on my front lawn is leaning and about to fall
in the very spot I’m standing. I duck down, close my eyes, and brace myself,
hoping that Jeff will be able to reach me before the tree collapses.
Brielle,
ReplyDeleteYou've given us a cliff-hanger of a story! It reminds me of one story I read about the storm, in which a man left a note apologizing for taking a blanket from a neighbor's house, so as to keep warm. I don't know why that comes to my mind... Your writing style is crisp and clear.
Thank you, bird,
Spring