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?