I could see no way out. Immersed in the pile of rubble and dead bodies, I lay there consumed in dust peering through the small crevice. “Help,” I bellowed, but I was answered by an eerie silence. I could be stuck here for days, weeks, months and without food and water death was a certainty. Then God answered my call. A brightly illuminated light appeared followed by a wave of fluorescent trousers and red braces. Pulled by my arms, I was brittle, frail and weak. My legs felt like petroleum jelly as I emerged from the murky depths of the claustrophobic enclave.
The sun’s rays immediately hit my forehead as my eyes adjusted to the familiar surroundings. And then it hit me like a piano falling from the heavens. I dropped to my knees. Panic crept in. My heart beat rapidly increased until it reached terminal velocity. Tears gushed down my cheeks; I was crying a river of blood. I could not bear the sudden realisation that my home, my country, my people had been obliterated. St Lucia was in ruins. There was nothing here for me except pain and anguish.
A month later
I awoke, still absorbed in a Caribbean reverie. A month after the quake and I was living in London. Alone, isolated and socially disenfranchised in this urban jungle.
Sitting on my bed I waited for my mind to reacquaint itself with the enclosed dimensions of my petit bed sit in the Trellick Tower. Groggily, I noticed the crumpled waves on my pillow case which could only conjure the spectres of the quake. My eyes wandered, and I began to gawp blankly at the bland interior décor, the facades only prominent feature was a photo, a photo of my estranged father. The very reason for why I was here.
3:30 PM
“Buzz….” My eyes fastened suddenly awake to the clamour of my exasperating Nokia ringtone. It was a bitterly harsh winter’s day and the dark night descended upon London. The luminous screen persistently flashed. I received a text message. “Job alert! Toilet cleaning available in the city?” I replied swiftly with an instant “Yes I accept.” I sluggishly got myself out of bed. The Incandescent lights of central London surfaced on the horizon and Europe’s largest building the shard towered above the buildings that protruded the financial district.
Donning a scarf and an array of layers I certainly wasn’t a trendsetter for the latest fashion. I successfully managed to negotiate the steep flight of stairs towards the exit encountering various. The bus stop was directly opposite the tower and the 23 bus immediately appeared by the shelter upon my arrival. From here it was a straight journey to central London.
I was constantly watchful for the famous monuments that I passed whilst on the voyage to work. The red beast manoeuvred its way round the narrow streets of east London and arrived in the financial district at promptly 4:45 PM. The sheer opulence of central London was stark in contrast to the granular exterior and grittiness of Trellick tower. I promenaded down the immaculately maintained pavements of Wall Street. Laughter reverberated from the many bars