The sound of the lamp, shattering the floor, was enough to wake me up from a deep sleep that morning.

I reached for the glasses of my nightstand, only to have my senses jolted, quite literally, by the sudden shaking of the ground beneath me.

Alarmed, the only thing I thought to do was curl myself into a ball and wait for the earthquake

to pass. The entire complex shook as the walls and ceiling groaned around me.

I laid there helplessly while listening to more of my belonging shatter in the other rooms and furniture tipping over all around me, hoping above all else that the roof wouldn't cave in atop of me.

After what felt like the longest minute of my life, the tremors subsided.

My thoughts were a jumbled mess of confusion and panic.

Did that really just happen?

I jumped out of bed and reached out once more for my glasses, only to realize they were no longer on my stand, but on the floor.

To my luck, there was still in one piece.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the number of my belongings that hung on the

walls.

A quick survey across my bedroom was enough to show that everything had fallen, strewn about everywhere as if someone had ransacked the entire place.

My TV, along with all of my pictures, lay in heaps on the floor.

I stood there, dumbfounded and frustrated at the mess and imagining the dollar value to

replace and repair growing larger with each broken item I had seen.

Feeling dread seep into me, knowing full well that I would see worst horrors waiting for

me beyond my bedroom.

The noises alone had told me as such.

It was as if a tornado ran through from the inside. Furniture was tipped over, shelves left open with all their contents

spilled out on the ground. My kitchen alone looked like the aftermath of a war zone,

an assorted mess of a variety of broken dishware, glasses and silverware, all strewn about Ground Zero.

...