John (narrative)
The last thing John ever expected to experience in the Ministry was an earthquake -- if that was even the real cause was for this sudden violent shaking.
John was abruptly tossed from his desk chair to the floor where he was forced to stay on his hands and knees as the building bucked and swayed. He had to duck and scramble as office furniture toppled and rolled. Slipping several times, he was finally able to toss himself against a wall and brace himself as he rode out the last of the rumbling.
The entire event only lasted all of a minute, but to John, it had felt like ten. His pulse was racing and he was frozen there, against the wall. Other people in the office were slowly getting to their feet while others cried for help.
Then it started raining.
John swore loudly as he climbed to his feet on shaky legs. Huffing a breath and shoving back his damp hair, he went to collect briefcase -- there was no bloody way he was sticking around for more of this.
Thunder clapped and pea-sized hail began to fall.
"Bloody fucking hell!" John roared at the ceiling, covering his face with an arm to block the stinging bits of ice bounce off of him.
The room was dumping a thunderstorm on the office. One little shake and the entire weather system was fucked -- brilliant, just bloody brilliant.
John made it two steps toward his desk when the world went blindingly white as an arc of lightning flashed through him. The jolt was strong and knocked him out of his loafers. He'd already blacked out before he fell smack backward into the desk behind him. His head took the brunt of the fall and was cracked open like a melon with a sickening sound. Blood trickled from the nasty wound on his temple, but it was simultaneously washed away by the rain pouring down on his unconscious body as his co-workers left him for dead.
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