"Oh, no!" he gasped as he
surveyed the disaster before him. Never in his 40 years of life had he seen anything like
it. How anyone could have survived he did not know. He could only hope that somewhere amid
the overwhelming destruction he would find his 16-year-old son. Only the slim hope of
finding Danny kept him from turning and fleeing the scene.
He took a deep breath and proceeded.
Walking was virtually impossible with so many things strewn across his path. He moved
ahead slowly. "Danny! Danny!" he whispered to himself.
He tripped and almost fell several times.
He heard someone, or something, move. At least he thought he did. Perhaps, he was just
hoping he did. He shook his head and felt his gut tighten. He couldn't understand how this
could have happened. There was some light but not enough to see very much. Something cold
and wet brushed against his hand. He jerked it away.
In desperation, he took another step then
cried out, "Danny!"
From a nearby pile of unidentified
material, he heard his son. "Yes, Dad," he said, in a voice so weak it could
hardly be heard.
"It's time to get up and get ready for
school," the man sighed, "And for heaven's sake, clean up this room!"
