The G.E.M. Project

Eye of the Storm

Chaos is a funny thing. Everything can be falling apart around you and yet you stand detached from it. It's like the eye of the storm.

I've come to know chaos firsthand, as an old friend by now. Yet, through the years, the first time I truly understood it will always hang in my mind like a banner of warning. Pandemonium seemed to be the constant state of the city that my volunteering work had led me to, although by that point, almost the whole world was the same.

I was in Kalimna, a city struggling to survive between the destruction of a slowly fracturing society and an influx of people using their power for destruction.

Waking to screams was not unnatural in Kalimna; waking to buildings toppling onto their neighbour was.

It was frantic, horrific, and bloody. The memory is both crystal clear and heavily fogged in my mind. It was the eye of the storm.

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I am woken rather suddenly as the pallet beneath me shudders and all but dumps me on the floor. Dust rattles from the ceiling and my bones, well, they just rattle.

The yelling outside sounds almost normal, but as I feel the ground beneath me shake again I know it isn't.

Between the tiny dark space of my room, and the expanding discontent within me there is barely enough room to breathe.

Panic wells within my chest and I try violently to squash it down. Now is definitely not the time for me to be dealing with wayward emotional manifestations.

I take three deep breaths and then I'm on my feet, grabbing my severely depleted first-aid kit and putting twice the needed force behind the push to open my door.

I see Kari the centre manager darting about the room, between pillars and unmade bedrolls, trying to usher people out.

The floor is a mess, and everyone's belongings are scattered, which with the panic is understandable, but it's still a shock to see it like this. Our volunteer and support centre might be a bit ramshackle, with its peeling walls and stained floors and over concentration of bodies, but at the very least it's usually organised.

The freeze-effect the scene has on my limbs is distinctly not appreciated and I have to make a conscious effort to unlock my limbs. If Kari is ushering people out the door, there must be something waiting for them, because she wouldn't send them into danger otherwise.

I start forward at last, trying to catch her attention for even a second. If she's taken charge I don't want to counter her work, and knowing me, unless I get up-front instructions I could very easily do just that.

She pauses a moment when she sees me, the momentary relaxation of her features betrays how grateful she is to have help, but then she's tensed and moving again.

"Nira, thank God," She says roughly, wiping at the soot smeared on her brow, "He is attacking again. There is backup, for once. You see the orange aircraft? They are the way out. We need to get everyone out. Now."

Through the broken glass of the window I can almost make out what she's talking about, so I nod and then she's gone, again, shouting orders in Kalmnan at the crowd, and ushering everyone out.

The fact there was anyone here to help, anyone at all, was a miracle. The relief rushing in response to that knowledge is something more than foreign to me at that point.

I join Kira in ushering people out, directing them as clearly as I can in my rough Kalmnan. I'm far from fluent enough to properly get my point across, but they're more afraid than I am and don't need the distraction of trying to translate the English.