Terremoto

How long does a minute last?
Sixty seconds, or an eternity?

I was dreaming, wrapped in the warmth of my bed. I dream I’m on a train, and at some point the train shakes. A sudden braking.
I’m woken because a picture has just fallen off the wall.
Everything is shaking, like in the dream, but my eyes are open. The furniture shakes, the walls shake, and I think I can still hear that noise now.

My first thought: my loved ones. I run to my parents’ room, but they’re not there. Or rather, the room isn’t there: it’s actually our kitchen. My university flatmates have already gone home to their families for the weekend.

A handful of seconds, just long enough to watch houses collapse, and every certainty is gone.
In that endless instant, old stories come back: the ones my grandparents told, of another valley and another January.
It certainly wasn’t the first, but it’s not as if we can say we’re used to it. How do you get used to something like this?
You simply can’t. It’s just that this one was strong, so strong. Everything shook, and it wouldn’t stop.