When the earthquake began I was lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. I was trying to sleep, but I had slept too much the past couple days and it wouldn't come. I traced the lines and patterns on my ceiling, on the curtains, on the walls, with my eyes. I was trying to let my thoughts cease, trying to silence the ever rampant rapids of conscious and unconscious hatred of myself. The only thing I could hear was the constant tick tick tick of my wall clock.
The shaking started with a tremble. I didn't realize it at first, I thought I was finally entering the sweet escapes of slumber. But then, crawling, the shaking increased. The mattress moved, I could hear the squeaking of the springs in the bed and the nails on the wall. The played into a harmony with the clock. Ticking and creaking, clicking and rattling.
Pictures began to move, small things began to fall. The sound of a picture frame toppling over grabbed my attention and I jerked my eyes away from the ceiling to the source of the