A "do nothin’" kind of Saturday.

It was Saturday. A "do nothin’" kind of Saturday. The house was empty. My folks had gone into Vancouver. My older brother was off doing something; he was always doing something either at university or some crazy extreme sport. Nothing extreme ever happens in my life. The most dangerous thing I ever faced was trying to get the hard plastic bubble pack off my new ear buds. Carrie had asked me to go by bus with her to the Fort; it wasn’t important why she was going, it was just something to do to eat up a nothin’ kind of day.

While Carrie went down one isle of the grocery store, I sauntered down another. Pickles. All kinds of pickles: dill pickles, garlic pickles, bread and butter, sweet, pickled peppers. I don’t think I ever paid any attention to pickles before. Why would I even want to pay attention to pickles, I thought; when BANG. "What the ...!" it sounded like a truck had hit the store. My jerk reaction was to go see what happened. I should find Carrie first. That’s when everything began to shake.

I’m standing there. Right between two rows of high shelves loaded with cans and jars. I’m just standing there stunned, unable to move. I’m looking around; wondering what’s happening. Wondering when the shaking was going to stop. Noises got so loud, so chaotic. Bottles rattled and people started screaming. Security alarms screeched. A jar fell off a shelf and exploded glass, pickles and brine across the floor. "EARTHQUAKE !" I heard my own voice yell. More jars and cans started coming off the shelves. My legs finally began to work again and I started running towards the store entrance but the whole building was shaking now like some freaky carnival ride. The building groaned and seemed to heave, pushing me from one side to the other. I stumbled. I could hear explosions, more glass shattering all across the store and things kept falling around me. Terrifying sounds mixed with frightening screams and wailing sobs. Carrie. Was one of those voices hers?

"Carrie!" I screamed. I was jarred off balance, my knees buckled and I fell to the floor. "Ahhhh!" my left hand landed on broken glass and the salty brine instantly made the pain worse. "Carrie!" A ceiling tile came down just in front of me and blocked my way. Earthquake! My mind sped. Shelter. I need to get under something. No desk. No table. Nothing. I cowered against the empting shelves and wrapped my arms around the back of my head and neck and buried my face in my knees. I thought about dying. I thought about my family. I was too scared to cry. My arms and legs were being pounded by cartons and cans. Another ceiling tile fell and a light fixture swung from a wire. SUDDENLY DARK. The horrifying sounds seemed to grow louder in the dark. The stench of spices and vinegar filled my nostrils. I pulled my knees in tighter and prayed. The piercing security alarm finally fell silent. Later reports would declare the shaking only lasted 73 seconds but it seemed like hours. I was gasping for air. Breath in; breath out; breath in. My arms covered my ears and helped muffle the sounds of panic.

When the shaking stopped there was a long moment of deafening silence except for a whimper in the distance. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. As frightening as the shaking was, and as much I wanted to be out of this place, I was now too scared to move. The isle was heaped with litter and broken glass but the shelves had stayed upright. I couldn’t put my hand on the glass scattered floor, so I grabbed hold of a shelf and pulled myself up. My body ached with the pounding it had taken, but I was alive. In the darkness I looked at my left hand, a shard of glass glistened from the base of my thumb. I pulled it out with one quick tug. I didn’t have to see the blood, I could feel it. I yanked my long sleeve down and clamped it with my fingers. The glass on the floor crunched under my runners as I inched through the debris and over the wide ceiling tiles towards a shaft of light which spilled across the end of the isle.

"Carrie?" I called as loud as I could. In the dim light filtering through the chocking dust, I found her under a pile of boxes and a small shelving unit which had fallen over and caught her leg against a freezer door. "We’ve got to get out of here. If it starts shaking again this old building might not hold."

Outside people were either walking around stunned or going somewhere in a hurry. A few folks were huddled around a news broadcast on a portable radio. "If you are somewhere safe, stay where you are." the broadcaster was urging. "Bridges have collapsed and those still standing are for emergency vehicles only. Overpasses have been compromised shutting down large sections of freeway. We will keep you appraised of damage as reports come in. In the meantime stay off the roads until further notice."

"Now what do we do?" Carrie asked.

"Good question."

At the Campout...

The tail of the day, is reflected around the Fireside with story telling from each group participating in the Event.

Each group may tell their story through expression of their choice...

* Musically
* Theatrical
* Story Telling (Narrative)
* Poetically

Go Back...