The Helping Hands
The world wanted her to give up, but her will
was stronger than the pile of bricks and broken dreams she was under.
Her life has never been easy, but this was different. The turmoil of
bygone days was metaphorical, but the earthquake was terribly
physical... Real. She was breathless with fear, and also because of
the crushing weight over her. It seemed to her that it was only a
moment ago when she was making lunch. She remembered the vegetables
trembling, what happened next was blur to her. She tried to scream,
but lack of air denied her of sound. The darkness tricked her to
believe that she was blinded by the fall; or perhaps it really had.
There were no ways to know. Then she lost her senses.
When her awareness was back- maybe an hour or
perhaps a few seconds later- she could feel the air to be thinner,
free of some of the dust. She could breathe again, even if painfully.
She tried to move, but her lower body didn't respond. Then she tried
to move her hand and it touched something. It felt like wet skin: a
palm, fingers, nails, and some blood. It was bigger than hers. She
held it tight. It felt like a man's hand: strong and rough. She
pressed on it tightly, hoping for a response, but that wasn’t granted
her. Yet, she didn't let it go. 'Whose can it be!' she wondered. 'I
hope it's of that boy I walk past on the stairs every day. Oh! Does he
have a nice way about him; a very engaging smile. When we walk out of
here, I will finally talk to him. I will see where it goes from
there.'
Then she prayed for that hand not to be of
her neighbor: the man in his fifties; the one who undresses her with
his eyes every day.
'Or maybe it's the hand of the old man's wife. She is manly herself!' She thought.
For next many hours, there were only two things
for her to do: fight to inhale air, and list all the people whose
hand she could have been holding during the darkest hour of her life.
Then many more hours later- just when the
thought of giving up had started to ignite in her- she felt movements
over her. One by one, the bricks disappeared; the early evening light
assured that she wasn't blind. Two men dragged her out of the ruins.
She looked at her side. There it was: a hand. Just a hand.
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