Tuesday, March 29, 2011
It's May seventeenth. I know this because the clock on the wall in the 7-11 said it was. This fact was also confirmed by the date on the watch I found hunting through the sporting goods store today. That means it's already been eight days. It's hard to believe it's been three days since I crawled out of the rubble of the Vera-Cross building. It seems that when it collapsed it didn't just fall in on itself like you see on TV. I suspect if it had, I wouldn't be here right now, wouldn't be laying on a therapeutic bed in someone's empty uptown apartment writing in my notebook under the dim light of two candles that smell of sugar cookies and pumpkin bread. No, I would have ended up a quickly forgotten red stain on the floor of what used to be a custodial closet, just another one of the hundreds of thousands.
The shock is beginning to wear-off and I'm starting to realize that there is no waking from this nightmare. Earlier today, as the sun was beginning to set and the evening rays were streaming through the countless columns of smoke, reflecting a kaleidoscope of light onto the piles of rubble, it hit me. It finally hit me that this is my new life, this desolation is my new reality. I had to sit down as a wave of emotions swallowed me bringing a toxic mixture of tears and nausea. I thought I was going to throw-up and pass-out at the same time. It was regrettably painful like an unexpected punch in the gut, but at least I was finally feeling something. It was the release from the numbness that I needed, a cleansing of sorts and the crossing of a gate that stood between two very different worlds. I realized then that it was time for me to say goodbye to the old and accept the new, no matter how bad it may be.
After searching for the last two days I have come to the conclusion that there is no one left in the city, at least no one left alive. I haven't been able to search the entire area but I've done enough walking and searching to realize that there is nothing here for me. Tomorrow I'm going to head to California and see if my mom is okay. I've checked every cell phone and land line I could find but nothing works, not even the internet. With no power or working phones in the city I still have no idea what happened or how extensive this mess is. For all I know, I could be the last person on earth. I fear the worst but hope for the best.
Monday, March 21, 2011
It's been at least four days now. I don't know what's happening. I have yet to see or even hear evidence of a rescue attempt. I am beginning to lose any sense of hope. Where are the firemen or the police? Shouldn't there be teams of men and dogs hunting through this pile of rubble? Maybe they are. Maybe they are just so far above me that I can't hear them. For all I know they have given me up for dead—something I'm trying not to do myself.
Yesterday I found a flashlight, half of a power bar and some bandages in an old crushed up first aid kit clinging to a wall. No water though. Even just sitting here I'm exhausted. I've been thirsty before but nothing like this. I can feel my body shriveling up like a grape off the vine baking in the hot sun. I would literally give my right arm for a sip of cool water.
I'm trying my best to keep my mind occupied, occupied with things other than vaporized concrete and tangled metal but the walls seem to be closing in. Every once in a while I can hear the creaking of distressed metal, the crash and bang of unstable pieces succumbing to the uneven weight of broken chaos. I fear that soon enough one of the crash and bangs will be in this room and on me, which is why I have come to the conclusion that if I don't hear or see anything signs of rescue by the end of the day I am going to try and find a way out tomorrow. My leg is still intensely sore but it is becoming clear that if I stay much longer this room will be a tomb rather than a prison. If I'm going to die in this mess it's not going to be sitting here. No doubt this is already a tomb to who knows how many mangled bodies. I woke up last night, cold and frightened. I'm sure it was just my tired imagination but I swear I felt the cold hand of death on my shoulder. I could almost feel his chilled voice calling my name as he collected the souls of those rotting above me.
I can't think about this anymore. I have to find a way to think positive, to find some hope. Where is my sunshine?
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
My name is Cassidy Ranger. I am twenty-one years old and I work in this building on the fourth floor for Hoffman & Wells. I was in the basement getting a printer cartrige when the building collapsed. I don't know what happened but I'm trapped here and I don't know how long I can make it. My leg was cut. I think it's bad but I'm pretty sure I stopped the bleeding. I've been calling for help all day but nobody has come. I can't hear anybody and I don't think anyone knows I'm down here.
If you're reading this it probably means I didn't make it. Please tell my mother, Julie Ranger who lives at 394 Grant circle in Bakersfield, Ca that I love her. Please tell her that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving her, sorry for Kyle and sorry about the car.
I'm so cold. So tired...