MAYHEM
Issue Two – November 2014
ISSN 2382-0322
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Stephen Henderson
Sorry for doing something right
The dog barked. I woke up. I was still half asleep. Mat swore. I got out of bed. The dog was still
barking. I stood up. The ground rumbled.
This was not a normal rumble. It was as if mother earth herself had been awoken by my Jack
Russell’s bark. I froze. In the early morning air. I froze. A lightning bolt of panic. A moment of
realisation. We were all going to die.
The ground shook. I grabbed the dog. His barks were now soft whimpers. I held him close. I ran
to the doorway. We shook with terror. The ground shook with anger.
The walls bent. Our building swayed. Matts stereo hit the floor. The fridge leapt from its spot on
the wall. Chaos in the early hours.
I could feel the ground beneath my feet. It was like water. It rippled. It came in waves. It came to
destroy. It came to crush. And it came to kill. You could see it. The concrete slabs underneath
our carpet start to distort. Crack. Break.
I was waiting. Waiting to die. Waiting to… see her again. It went on for too long. Seemed like
days. Was only seconds.
The ground stopped. The dog still whimpered. We still shook. I slowly walked back to my bed. It
must have been a dream. It must have been a dream. This doesn’t happen here. In New Zealand.
I woke up again about five hours later. 62 texts on my phone. “Are you alright?” Was I alright?
The aftershocks had come and gone. My mind was too numb to notice them. Our pantry was
empty. Our floor was full. But we were alive.
That was the first. The second…
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© Copyright remains with the individual author
MAYHEM
Issue Two – November 2014
ISSN 2382-0322
______________________________________________________________________________
I was asleep. It was in the afternoon. But I was asleep. Joes 21st the night before. It shook. It was
more violent. But it didn’t last as long. The dog was asleep too. He fell out of the bed and sighed.
We were over them now. I laughed it off.
185. 185. 185.
That number would be etched into my mind forever.
Sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, girlfriends boyfriends.
People.
185 people didn’t laugh it off. 185 people died. It should have been 186. I slept in. I missed my
bus. The bus that I caught in to work was crushed. Under the rubble. No survivors. No survivors.
Kelsey died. I felt guilty. She had a baby. She died too. I couldn’t look at the pictures. I couldn’t
share the post. I couldn’t watch the memorial. I texted her. I invited her to parties. It wasn’t right.
I’m sorry.
Where was I during the Christchurch earthquakes? In bed. Safe. Alive. 185 people. Weren’t.
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© Copyright remains with the individual author