By email, ran out to my friends who live in Chile. In this house of reinforced concrete walls where I am, next to the river, all the omens are trembling, but of impatience. As bottles thrown into the sea a few, very few messages are answered. Diego tells me "... silence is plucked like an orange. " What was early morning, sleep, black velvet, fell through the cracks become branches in sirens screaming as asteroids giving birth in salty bird cries brought the depth of the sea in your ad, not that scared screams inhuman but too human. "Have you ever came down the stairs and the water will win the race?" Some committed suicide by jumping into the pool vacuum desde el piso de arriba, y un malón desbocado de agua pequeña y apurada se te mete entre las piernas y busca la salida con óptimo instinto. “En un piso once, no hay tiempo para nada. Me moví rápido y sin sentimientos. Algo me decía que tenía que llegar a las escaleras y que tenía una sola oportunidad”.
Un terremoto es una serie de convulsiones, pero para quien lo vive nada se repite en serie. Cada segundo es único y por eso parece no terminar nunca. Diego pensó en su familia, en sus padres, en algún amigo. “Es como si las casas de la vereda de enfrente fuesen la imagen que arroja una pantalla de televisión, y de repente sufrieran una falla vertical que las hace bailar moviendo las caderas. I felt nauseous, a kind of intoxication of white drink of poor quality. The ground flew as thick and bitter liqueur. I could not walk and do not know if it was because he could not or because I inadvertently did not want. " Surge layers of asphalt, the electricity goes, that again, to be forever, forever again, by God, that is, not to go back. They all say something, but no dialogue. Nobody listens. Everyone feels that the place is safer for himself not for anyone else. Do not tell anyone. Marco tells me that he woke up a few seconds before the start of the aftershocks and instinctively wanted to take the cordless phone. "When we started the ruckus was something eternal. When leaving the house the walls of the corridor approaching each other. I thought I was going to press. Is rare. Seems slow, but at the same time, feels that there is no time for anything. The lapse of time as we know. You'll laugh, but I thought it was inanimate life and mine was more important than those structures, the bricks, stones. Do you know how it feels when you move the neighborhood? One is used to move to get to various points, not that these points are ones that move. "
My brother tells me that experienced the anguish of impotence, of not knowing what to do, how much will last, he writes that after happens, you read around in the key of which are the safest places to fill, if necessary. One can decipher their own movement and even the movement of others and of objects such as cars. But it has a language to know what we mean inanimate things moving. It's like moving to become silent for a moment to another, deaf to the twisting, blind to the immediate future. Diego writes: "I do not think you could go back to sleep, that awake in a flat side that has gone mad for ever. Huis, but feel it's a sleepwalking scene. I was not afraid, quite the opposite. Did things as selflessness, as if something between the space and I blocked is very difficult to explain. In the street there are some trees. The glasses are bent, very ceremonious, but ran no wind. In a while I thought I would need more time to understand what was happening to me, but I did not want to understand anything else. Nothing at all. " Framework fails to prevent the flashbacks, "The phone falling off the bedside table, the walls of the hallway that looked like the cheeks of a trumpet, a dog in a strange position, standing on four legs, but with the neck to one side and mouth to the other, screaming and looking for someone that only he saw. "
My brother told me that he never thought of the elasticity of the unheard upright. "Now is broken, now it is broken, I believed, and did not break." Partitions that are not in Juan Pinto Durán broke, the sports complex of the Chilean National Team, but in conception, if the Santiago International Airport, another in Colima. Now comes the death toll, damage assessment, international solidarity, condolences, restoration of services, the gradual return to what we call normal. Also disproportionate physical and emotional reactions to events related to the trauma, hypervigilance, irritability, leakage. Diego writes: "The eleventh floor rooms are saturated with a very fine grit-white, I do not know where it went, as if everything had been eaten from the inside and the atmosphere is filled with dusty involves things which gave this instant mount obvious appearance of a B-movie. " Neither was a stunt or it was a movie.
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