I did not expect that out of all the reasons I wouldn’t be watching the devastation as Godzilla tore through the swamp of Seattle, it would be because out of the tiny pixelated mass in the still pristine path of the monster I could make out my house. It looked- if I was lucky- that Godzilla was taking their time scrunching up the ferris wheel like a bad draft and I would have five more minutes to grab what I could. The interior of my house became a microcosm of the destruction only so far away as I tore through my belongings trying to fit what I could into as many bags as I could carry. I could only hope the monster themselves would have been proud as I tore keepsakes off the walls and flung books half way across the room hoping they wouldn’t land too roughly. In a second stroke of luck, my dog was being baby sat down south and my partner had left for work far earlier that day so it was only my life I was gambling when I took the time to shove a chocolate bar into my bag. After all, I was no expert but this was lining up to be an emergency bar kind of day.
When I finally felt the thuds shake the house I snapped the laptop shut and roughly shoved it into my satchel. By the time I had thrown my cloak over my shoulders and plopped a hat on my head pictures were starting to fall from the walls. After shoving on my most rugged pair of boots I flung the door open and flew out- not bothering to close the door behind me. I booked it down the hill, trying not to lose my balance every time Godzilla took a step. My bags bounced against my body as though I were keeping them from an autograph signing and they wanted out. Fortunately, my panic armored me from their fan-fueled tantrum. My runner’s gait never faltered and the down-hill drop boosted my speed.
My car.
My car.
My car, my car, my car- Where is my god damnned car?!
My eyes locked onto the flash of orange just in time to see the wooden planks of street give out under the back of my car and roll it gently into its swampy-sweet goodnight. Though it shames me, I was not exactly mindful of whomever’s delicate ears might be listening as I let out a roaring “FUUUCK!” It cost me precious air but adrenaline told me that was a concern for later.
As I pounded down the street every bit of focus was put towards finding any car, bike, or Fred-Meyer shopping cart I could use to get away quicker. The rumbling behind me had turned into a roar of its own, pressing me even faster. It must have been some combination of the two that let me hook my foot right into a tree root gnarled up between the boards. I skidded to the ground, bags flying around me in a spray. I gasped out of shock- half from the pain and half from the fact I was no longer moving but my chest was still heaving. Looking up, my house was perfectly framed on its hill so I could get the best view possible as an immense scaly foot dropkicked the house and the hill up into the air.
It was like someone had blown a party popper mid celebration. The overwhelming thunder of noise was followed by ribbons of cherished garbage fluttering through the air, ready to tangle in someone’s hair or find a forgotten corner where they would be lost until a season that would have no reason for celebration. A distant part of my mind sat back, picking out things that had made up my life until then. My favorite scarf tangled around a wad of heirloom petunias. The corner puzzle piece of my tv. A stray teacup that had survived the initial bashing only to shatter through a deframed window.
By the time all of the particulars of the scene had been fogged in dust shock still had my brain running in granny gear. It was all gone, just like that. A magic trick bigger than anything I’d ever been able to pull off. All that was left that I had in the world were the things I’d stuffed into the scuffed and dirt covered bags around me. I don’t know how long I would have sat there if adrenaline hadn’t bent down to my ear, gently brushing the shell like a lover might, before screaming ‘The boards are coming down! Run you idiot!’
My boots scrabbled against the boards under me as I pushed up to my feet, only to see that for a third time the fates had been kind to me. The tremor had popped not only the parking break but the locks on an oldsmobile a little ways down the street. The white paint was dinged and from here I could already tell the interior would have the dusty-stale smell of an AARP catalog gone to pasture. But! The front driver’s door was wide open and I wasn’t still so dumb as to need the universe to spell ‘Hop In’ any bigger.
Truthfully I wonder if the flash of time between seeing the car and having it loaded to the roof with my things, one hand on the gear stick and the other on the steering wheel, actually existed or if I bypassed it all together. I had no keys. I did not care. I did not picture them in my mind as I screamed at the dash, “Drive, you son of a bitch!”
The swear jar was one quarter richer and it coincidentally was the price of my survival as the car roared to life. In that moment it sounded like the bray of a stallion as it reared, steadfast hero mounted on its back raising a sword to the sky. Out of that shining moment of glory came one thousand prayers that I would not kill the engine as I accelerated as fast as my coordination would let me. It seemed that each click of the gears was echoed by a plunk of the street into the water. The planks in front of me began to rattle and I burned up my unease in determination as I slammed my foot on the gas.
Just then, the quaking spread to the nearest house and I could have sworn my ears picked out the snap of splintering wood. I stared down, the center of the street, willing with everything I had to come out on the otherside. ‘Just past the kitty mailbox, just past the kitty mailbox, we just have to get past the kitty mailbox’ repeated in my head as a shadow fell over the car. Briefly, I glanced up to see a chimney shattering apart like a jenga tower before my nerves shattered from the crunch of a brick slamming on the trunk. My hope for the kitty mailbox was punched out of me with that hit, and I thought my next few moments would bury me in rubble after all, but the softer repeat of the earlier cacophony sounded behind me instead. Checking the rear view mirror I saw the mound that used to be the house half sticking up out of the water. Things were finally still. The rubble had supported the remaining wood enough that it didn’t look like it would shatter or fall at any moment. Out of the side of my eye I saw the kitten mailbox flash by.
I was safe. I made it. From one dozen texts shocking me out of bed, to driving down the street in a stolen car that hadn’t gone over 25 in a decade, I had lost life as I had known it and lived to start again. Now, I just had to get to work on time.
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stormborns
blakekathryn
areudirty
snowghoul
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romaincrisis
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