The Rose Garden Chapter 2: My mug fell from my quivering hands. It hit the floor and shattered, blasting varnished green shards and brown coffee every which way. I spread my feet far apart, trying not to get severely cut in the wake of a natural disaster. I ran to my storm shelter, the one part of my ancient house I was really thankful for. I crawled inside and made camp on a pile of quilts I had placed inside. I could hear trees snapping and roof tiles being pulled right off of my house. How could a storm come on so quickly? It was almost surreal. Then, a crash. The shelter's ceiling was breaking apart. How the hell could it bust so easily? Another crash, and I was buried. Everything hurt. I was dying. I had to be. There was a certain calmness to it, though. A reassurance. Almost nice. I smiled just faintly, and everything went black.