The original work for this improvised story was done in 10/8/2015 at school during the author’s Psychology 1A class.
The work was continued and improvised up to 934th word after school on the same said day.
This work is the first 3rd person perspective story written by the author.
A Man in Bed
A man is in his bed, drowsing noisily. The room is still dimly lit in the darkness of the night, a precarious candle light. From far away, the man’s room seems small, possibly just a firefly in a vast forest.
Suddenly a crackling sound strikes. The delicate light of the man’s embarks on its weak tumbling.
Closer, the room seems it’s on the verge of collapsing with all the sahking. The man, for now, is still in his dream, perhaps believing this shaking is an exciting feature in his oblivion. An ominous epiphany hits the man eventually, though. The man’s eyes are wide with sudden alert.
The man, whose T-shirt reads: “T-Rex,” quickly gets up, panicking. Now, his room is a part of shaking house, though the man seems to be alone.
“Earthquake!!!” The man shouts, trying to alarm his neighbors.
The man runs down the breaking and squeaking staircase, barely managing to escape the house, which collapses as soon as he is outside.
Although the man has (or had) a mortgage on the house, he does not even look back at the mess that was just generated a few seconds ago. He is hyperventilating. His harsh breaths reflects the grumbling of the ground, which has not seized completely yet.
Terrified and stunned, the man collapses as did the house. Upon the cracked and scarred asphalt lies the man, panting, struggling to breathe through this ugly chaos. The catastrophe has hit him and his neighbors just now, although none of them can believe what has just happened. A few of his neighbors run by him, not even bothering to glimpse at the lying man, who can quite possibly be an injured man in this occasion.
The man, now a little sober and less upset, gets up and looks around. Smoke is coming from everywhere and there seems to be some fire around him. Those wood houses have made a conflagration a distance away.
The night is still dark, but the flames and their light now illuminate the otherwise perfect darkness. The night is now lit by the earthquake. The world has become a lighter place, because of the earthquake.
The man stand there for a minute and starts to walk. He walks toward some place where the sweetness of nightly sleep persists despite of the catastrophe. Then he realizes there is no such place, at least near him. The piercing wind that has epitomized the winter of Washington is now noticed by the man.
“Damn this is a cold night.”
His coarse voice from the night’s interrupted sleep delivers what seems a little out of context. This substantiates that the man is in the stage of rejection. He has not resigned to believe the very existence of the earthquake.
The man shivers, utterly alone. The neighbors have dispersed and are nowhere to be seen. The man finds an ex-house with a small fire and sits near it on a torn apart bench. But the bench betrays instantly and breaks with the man bumping on the rugged, dilapidated ground.
“Ouch! Damn it. This sucks,” says the tumultuous voice.
However, the voice is only shaking from the coldness of the winter night, not from the terror that might have evoked by the earthquake. After sitting there for a while, probably an hour, the man rises. His steps light unlike before, the man marches back to the vestige of his old house. A mountain of mess, his house’s site is clearly an amalgamation of construction materials such as concrete, wood, rocks, etc. But the man seems in search of something. Something that is very important.
After a few hours of searching and scavenging, the man finally finds what he has pursued: a box. He swiftly snaps open the box, revealing the contents of it. Guns, emergency kit, clothes, canned food, water bottles, and a bow set. The man has clearly envisioned a catastrophe like this. The man’s face, though obscured by the curtain of night, moved almost explicitly in a way to make a smile, a crooked one.
The man grabs the gun and puts on his bow set on his shoulder. Then he declares to himself, “The world of mine has come! Now it’s the age of power, a physical power. I’ve got all I need and I’ve done all the trainings I needed.”
With a context that has clearly moved up his socio-economic and political statues, the man is clearly in the advantaged class in this world, where anarchy will certainly rule. Fully armed, the man is very robust in his figure. Tall, muscular, but not so much as to seem slow. His quick movement of his body reveals his physical capability.
Murmuring some unrecognizable words to himself, the man leaves the sit of his old home. Now he will lead an itinerary life of a nomad, which is a covetous status, compared to what others have.
The man puts on the rest of his equipment as he walks. He unraveled a box and puts on a metal necklace that reads: Norman Firie. The necklace reflects light from the fire around him, flashing the pathway to him. Norman is moving to a place he has decided to come in this particular occasion. He is sure he can find a shelter there while others waste their precious energy in this critical moment of survival. Norman laughs at the people in his mind, finding the vulnerability of the people amusing.