Earthquake

William Culpepper sat in an old fashined chair, shuffling paprs on his lap. Mary, his daughter, twirled ad danced around the yard not fa away from where he sat. The pair of them had gone out to the yard a few hours ago, so Mary could test out her new microscope and stargaze.

Will shifted, making the wooden chair in which he sat creak in protest. He checked his pocket watch and smiled. As usual, it was past bedtime and he hadn't paid any notice. They should probably retire soon.

Mary laughed, and fell to the ground. Will sprang from his chair and yelled to Mary if she were alright. Mary sat up, smiled at him reasuringly, and got back up.

Will slowly sat down again. Of course Mary didn't understand his overprotectiveness. Ever since his wife, Katherine, died, he never let his children o of his sight. Human life was only so fragile...

Will shook his head, and go back to his work. At thirty-eight yars old, William Culpepper was a man of poetry. He wrote all different kinds of poems for the London Corner newspaper. An easy job, for him. Alas, being a widower was not as easy. He lived in the country - miles away from work - with his daughter and eighteen-year-old son. May people have told him to remarry, but Will could not - can not - bear the thought.

He dipped his quill in ink, and hesitated briefly. He wrote the date in the corner of the blank sheet of parchment, and began to write.

Scritch, scratch, scritch. The ground shook a bit, and Will paused. What was that?

Scratch, scratch, scratch, scri - SNAP.

The ground shook so violently the Will's quill broke in two and fell to the ground. The earth beneath him shook tremendously, as if God had pushed a button on the side of the earth labeled 'vibrate'. Will bolted from his chair, the ground uneven and convulsing so hard it was a challenge to stay upright.

"Mary!" Will yelled, right when the stentorious crunch of the earth being wrenched open at his feet sounded; like boulders crashing together in a landslide, except much more terrifying.

Suddenly, the earth cracked open at Will's feet, and attempted to swallow hm whole, dragging him into thedark abyss. Will screamed, and hung on to the ledge for dear life. He was sweating terribly now, dangling over the neverending darkness the hid, no doubt, flaming magm deep below. One part of Will's brain wondered what it would be like to die to this way. Falling down, deep into the darkness...the humidity getting so overwhelming that it boiled the skin, and burned all clothing and hair. He would be long dead before reaching the magma.

Huffing and gasping for breath, Will pulled himself up and over. He stumbled rather than walked, the ground getting worse. e clutched the stitch in his side, and hoped to high heavens that his voice would be audible over the loud din.

"Mary! Can you hear me? MARY!" Will screamed until his throat ws raw. And sudenly, he felt her in his arms. She was sobbing, clutching hold of her father's shirt like a lifeline. He kissed her hair and rubbed her back, washed with relief that she had not suffered the same fate he almost had.

Grabbing Mary's hand firmly in his own and swinging her on his back, Will ran towards the house. When inside, he dove unde the big workdesk of his. Will placed Mary in his lap and formed a protective ball around her, shielding Mary from the terrible wrath of the earthquake outside.

The house and ground continued to shake violently. Will and Mary were then trapped under the desk, when part of the roof fell from above. Debris scattered, and Will felt a sharp pain in his left temple. He reached up and withdrew a sharp, long piece of glass. Will swore, dropping the piece to the ground.

Will clutched his head, hearig his heart pound loudly in his ears. He groaned; he had the worst headache ever times one hundred. Looking at his hand, he froze. The warm, sticky liquid on his hand could only be blood, but that much blood? Will remembered vaguely that head wounds were supposed to bleed a lot. Not too much blood, he hoped. If he were to die, he thought thickly, who would take care of his children? Surely, his brother, Francis, would look after them...

"Will! Mary!" Will woke up to a man's voice calling his name. Mary was awake, now, too.

"We're hear! Under the desk!" Will called out, his voice hoarse. Shuffling and scraping ensued, and Will and Mary waited for their rescuers to dig them out. When the ceiling was pushed aside, bright light temporarily blinded Will. The identity of their rescuers turned out to be none other than Will's brother, Francis, and Will's son, Thomas.

"We've been tearing up the place looking for you two! Not that this place isn't already pretty torn up," Francis added, gesturing to the whole room. Will and Mary got up from thei hiding place, stretching their limbs.

"Are you two alright?" Francis asked.

"Yes," said Will, distracted. He looked around the house and sighed. The daage done was going to be impossible to fix. Well, he thought, A least everyone is safe. And with that, he hugged Mary closer to him, feeling a great relief.