I’m writing these few lines without really knowing why. Perhaps it’s to overcome the fear. The cold. The dark. Despite the locks, the boards and the other devices, I can still hear the noise of the rain and the wind quite distinctly. Especially the low frequency growls of the thunder. Just as well my mobile battery is fully charged. I’m writing in the dark. The only light is that of the computer screen. With the monitor on low, from where I am, I can scarcely see to read what I write. Doesn’t matter. That way I hope the battery lasts as long as it can. I’m wearing all I was able to find. But I’m cold inside my body. I think it’s got to do with the dark. Lack of light seems to seep into the very marrow of the bone.
Darkness is cold. I’ve never felt so alone and such a prey to an uncertain future. Even if I know that help will come soon. Even if here I have all I need to tide me over for a few days. Food and drink. Some batteries for my torch. I’ve turned it off for now. It’s like living underground. I know there’s something out there. But this something isn’t friendly at all. A monster is eating up all we built. I’m lucky to be here, live here, where everything can resist the fury of the tornado. I try to imagine what it’s like out there, as the low frequencies continue to make the reinforced concrete, the wooden beams and the walls tremble. They sound like ghosts inside me. Then a few moments’ silence, even more uncanny than the hubbub I’ve been hearing these last few days. If I write I feel better. As if there were someone in here with me. I don’t know if I’ll ever really leave this refuge. I don’t know whether I’ll ever send this text to someone either. Maybe I’ll post it on some social network or other…
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Zibaldone 