One of Those Inspiration Things...

Wrath

I was outside the marketplace when I felt the first tremor. Everyone around me froze, but at the next tremor, which rocked the merchant's stalls, the square erupted into chaos. Women screamed, children wailed, men ran, fleeing for their lives as the buildings around them began to topple to the ground. As we were inside the city, at the very heart of it, there wasn't any place to go that wasn't filled with tall, stone structures. The very places we had called our homes, our refuges, had been transformed into our deadliest enemies. With each new rumble from deep withing the earth's belly, cracks shot up buildings and, groaning and complaining, the stones would collapse, crushing those unfortunates taking refuge in its doorway.

I let the crowd sweep me down the street, through the gates, and out of the city. I kept my head though as men, women, and children on either side of me slowed or faltered and were sucked under the crowd and crushed by the merciless feet of those who fled the horrors behind. I, and perhaps fifteen others, quickly jumped down into the would-be cellar of a house yet to be built. The earth beneath our feet shuddered and raged angrily. The shrieks of those on whom the crumbling towers fell were terrible. But even more so were the piteous moans and cries of those who were in so much agony, but still alive. We, in our fortress of dirt, sat huddled with our heads upon our knees, sometimes thrusting our heads over the top of the cellar to call to someone sprinting away, calling them to safety. Terrified, some could do nothing but babble nonsense to their gods. Other crushed their knees to their bosoms, tears falling from tightly shut eyes, frozen with fear.

It was really only a few minutes later that the ground finally stopped shifting about. It felt strange. That is the only way to describe it. Imagine you are bobbing in a boat in the middle of the sea, when suddenly the sea stops its motion. To have the ground no longer move, the momentary silence; the absence of the screams of those trapped underneath beams or blocks; that relief was strange and welcome. We, the group of people crouched in the open cellar, whose number had grown to twenty or so, began to stand up and several even smiled.

As soon as we began lifting each other out of the hole, the smiles vanished, replaced with shock and horror. Mothers pressed their children's faces to their shoulders to hide from the the horrific sight that met our eyes. The city was gone, leveled. All that remained was a section of the east outer wall. All else was merely rubble. The destruction, the desolation; it was just so great, so widespread. It took your breath away to see it. As we began the search for survivors, it became apparent that it was only our group and a few other clusters of people who remained relatively uninjured. The silence had long ago again been filled with the groans of the dying, the yells of those crying for rescue, the wailing of the women who had discovered their husbands' bodies. What was this wrath so terrible, so divine that the earth itself quaked in fear?