aBIGsheep
12-15-2008, 02:43 AM
We got to the girl in the rubble today. We heard her crying beneath a crater a day since the after-math of the earthquake. It took 40 people digging whatever debris we could truck off of her, but we'd done it. We'd finally done it.
The tunnel we'd burrowed was a straight shot down into her tomb, and now it only took a few lucky men to pry off whatever rubble was left. We thought we were going to be the lucky ones, you know -- the ones that were going to greet her back into the world of the living. The girl's brother was right down there with us as a volunteer. I remember how eagerly he clawed away at the concrete. He shoveled so hard with his bare hands that had rubbed his skin raw.
We expected her to come jumping out, yelling and cheering and hugging every single one of us, pecking us on the cheek and thanking everyone personally. They'd all be crying and embracing one another, patting each other on the back and telling themselves that they'd done a good job.
But when we'd pulled off that concrete casket, all we were welcomed with was silence. You could tell she was breathing, the way that her chest heaved slowly up and down, but the way the dust had sunk down into her skin . . . it was like it had masked whatever youth she had left.
We all watched as her brother fell to his knees and cradled her in his arms. She was alive,yes, but everyone could tell that it was almost over. Just a few moments later we could hear ambulance sirens in the distance coming to fetch her, but by then, it'd already been too late.
That poor boy. No one made a sound as we listened to him wail, lamenting his love for his lost sister.
"It was her birthday today!" he howled, "we should be celebrating right now!"
He pulled her closer to his chest, letting whatever sadness escape his eyelids and fall onto her frail form. A few of us had taken off our hard-hats and held it over our hearts. Others stood in a silent rapport of respect; others wiped a straggling tear off of their cheek.
The whole city around us was awake, trying to heal whatever injuries it'd suffered from the earthquake, but down in that pit, it was dead silent next to a sorry case of the sniffles. It was only until someone began to slowly sing:
"Happy Birthday to you . . ."
It crept slowly inside each of our voices, mingling into one.
"Happy Birthday to you . . ."
That poor boy. He wailed the loudest out of any of us, and that only made it feel all the more painful. We watched as he squeezed her gently, rocking her head back and forth like a babe.
"How old are you now?" he said hurriedly, the pain cracking against his voice.
"How old are you now?"
And that's when we heard him laugh. That's when we saw him burying his head into his sister's shoulder, laughing and crying all at the same time. We looked down at her from our lofty positions, the city's lights beaming down from above and filling our pit with a heavenly glow.
We saw her, and she saw us back.
An ambulance arrived and lofted the girl up into a stretcher and carried her off with her brother in tow. We stood there letting our silence, our single voice of understanding, mingle as one.
We got to that girl in the rubble today. It was her birthday, and we gave her the greatest gift any person could ever receive.
The tunnel we'd burrowed was a straight shot down into her tomb, and now it only took a few lucky men to pry off whatever rubble was left. We thought we were going to be the lucky ones, you know -- the ones that were going to greet her back into the world of the living. The girl's brother was right down there with us as a volunteer. I remember how eagerly he clawed away at the concrete. He shoveled so hard with his bare hands that had rubbed his skin raw.
We expected her to come jumping out, yelling and cheering and hugging every single one of us, pecking us on the cheek and thanking everyone personally. They'd all be crying and embracing one another, patting each other on the back and telling themselves that they'd done a good job.
But when we'd pulled off that concrete casket, all we were welcomed with was silence. You could tell she was breathing, the way that her chest heaved slowly up and down, but the way the dust had sunk down into her skin . . . it was like it had masked whatever youth she had left.
We all watched as her brother fell to his knees and cradled her in his arms. She was alive,yes, but everyone could tell that it was almost over. Just a few moments later we could hear ambulance sirens in the distance coming to fetch her, but by then, it'd already been too late.
That poor boy. No one made a sound as we listened to him wail, lamenting his love for his lost sister.
"It was her birthday today!" he howled, "we should be celebrating right now!"
He pulled her closer to his chest, letting whatever sadness escape his eyelids and fall onto her frail form. A few of us had taken off our hard-hats and held it over our hearts. Others stood in a silent rapport of respect; others wiped a straggling tear off of their cheek.
The whole city around us was awake, trying to heal whatever injuries it'd suffered from the earthquake, but down in that pit, it was dead silent next to a sorry case of the sniffles. It was only until someone began to slowly sing:
"Happy Birthday to you . . ."
It crept slowly inside each of our voices, mingling into one.
"Happy Birthday to you . . ."
That poor boy. He wailed the loudest out of any of us, and that only made it feel all the more painful. We watched as he squeezed her gently, rocking her head back and forth like a babe.
"How old are you now?" he said hurriedly, the pain cracking against his voice.
"How old are you now?"
And that's when we heard him laugh. That's when we saw him burying his head into his sister's shoulder, laughing and crying all at the same time. We looked down at her from our lofty positions, the city's lights beaming down from above and filling our pit with a heavenly glow.
We saw her, and she saw us back.
An ambulance arrived and lofted the girl up into a stretcher and carried her off with her brother in tow. We stood there letting our silence, our single voice of understanding, mingle as one.
We got to that girl in the rubble today. It was her birthday, and we gave her the greatest gift any person could ever receive.