not even have a window you peek to see the pile of debris which has turned what until two days ago was your monotonous landscape of everyday life, clean streets, full of sun or rain, and now removed from the mapping of your life by the fury of nature, and the whole car replaced by mountains of twisted steel, ship stranded on the black mud and the roofs of houses, pipes spewed by dirt, chips, furniture, windows or doors or televisions, electricity pylons lying on piles of cables that no longer reach any light bulb or any range. But fate has kept you up to the window that will serve as a refuge to contemplate the horror of the world, the incongruity of the creation, fate has left you nothing to tie you, as a castaway in the middle of the end of the world. Because you have lost everything, because in the huge mud and the remains of what was an orderly and civilized world, this world mercilessly crushed by nature, you know it will cost you much to find relatives and friends you've lost and the remnants themselves helping you maintain a strong memory of what they were until the earth shook, the earthquake has swallowed also photographs of your parents or your grandparents, your child's first teeth and her first picture or gift that prepared you for your birthday, remember the day when you marry, your wife's music was arranged in a perfect shelf, your computer, your books, all those little things that only now you know what they were worth and imported. Suddenly you've become someone who breathes and cries and has only a shirt, coat, shoes muddy, dirty pants and much fear and infinite sadness, someone who has been cast from life into nothingness, into the void, someone who has been abandoned in the fear and anger.
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