Remembering Hurricane Katrina
"If you’re going through hell, keep going." – Winston Churchill
I remember it like it was yesterday…
I was playing in our backyard, which was quite large and vibrant. Lots of colorful daisies and roses grew alongside the trees and grass. The house itself wasn’t too fancy, unless you came from El Salvodor or whatnot. It looked like any regular house in New Orleans. Tall, rectangular and painted meticulously white and blue, with a triangular roof and several rectangular stained glass windows, featuring plants, religious figures and strange patterns, and it was supported by four thin white columns that went up to the roof on the front end. To some people, it might seem a little plain in comparison to the other extravagant houses that my neighbors lived in, but at least we didn’t have a mortgage, and to me, it was the best house a kid could ever ask for. Of course, if your family belongs to the upper-middle class, lives in a relatively stylish and large house, in the most “unique” city in America, how hard can life really be?
All of a sudden, the wind started getting stronger and I realized that a storm was coming, so I ran back to the house as fast as my legs could carry me. I thought I was safe. However, all that relief started to wither once I saw our trees and flowers being uprooted, and the floor started getting wet. I ran to my room and shut the door, but it was to no avail. I saw the entire neighborhood from my bedroom window flood spontaneously and I even saw people drowning in their own cars. I couldn’t bear to watch, so I looked away. Then, I heard the glass shatter and break, and immediately realized that the water had overflown the lower floor. The entire kitchen was filled with floodwater, and so was the living room. The power went out afterwards, and I was shivering with feelings of sheer terror and anxiety. As I climbed to the roof, one thought suddenly passed my mind: “Where the [hell] are mom and dad?”
It’s been a nightmare of a month and twenty-six bloody days since that god forsaken Hurricane Katrina took all of New Orleans, my city. But it didn’t stop there, oh no. Most of my friends, alongside my dog, my father and grandparents lost their lives when the wrath of God descended upon Louisiana. Gone with them were our house and all our possessions, to say nothing of everyone else.
A month after the storm was over and our house destroyed, mother somehow managed to get ahold of a decent-paying job in France; back to the old country, as grandpa would put it; if he wasn’t a lifeless corpse right now, of course. But in the wreckage, I managed to find dad’s shotgun with some ammo still in it, and ironically, despite his all his assets, that was all he left behind. I can still remember grandpa, how much I enjoyed it when he sat down with me and told me of when his parents migrated to Louisiana and when he and grandma came to comfort me whenever I was sad and dad was on a business trip yet I wasn’t able to help them save themselves from drowning in the flooded streets. We weren’t even able to give them a proper funeral, since even the bank was flooded, not to mention that most of our friends had either died, disappeared, went mad or were mourning their loved ones themselves.
Tonight, I’m more restless than ever, but it’s not the HIV-ridden idiots in their bedrooms or the disgusting food or even the annoying couples shouting at each other in the rooms next to me at the inn where I’m staying at that bothers me.This morning, I tried to walk the streets just one more time, in a foolish crass attempt at finding my girlfriend so I can tell her “Mom’s found a new job in France and I’ll have to go with her. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I love you”, but I really shouldn’t have because two of my closest friends went mad after their parents died and they tried to make me join them in death, perhaps out of jealousy of my relatively better situation, since my mom’s still alive. I managed to avoid their sharp knives, and ran away from them to the more rural areas of the city. There, a gang of escaped convicts attacked me as well, perhaps to rob me, but with submachine guns stolen presumably from SWAT teams that they murdered. Miraculously, or perhaps sadly, I avoided their gunfire and escaped to back where I came from. After nearly three hours of running, I came across an old alleyway. I really shouldn’t have looked at what was there. But it was too late.
“No! It can’t be!”, I shouted as I looked at what was in front of me. Staring at me directly in the eye was her corpse being violated by some old redneck. Suddenly, voices started shouting in my head, though only I could hear them. I started crying uncontrollably, like all the pain and suffering that I’d gone through finally got out. I didn’t even have the strength to stand up anymore, much less say anything. The only thing I wanted to say was “I’m sorry”, but even then I just didn’t have the strength to say it. I didn’t even know if I was sane anymore. I ran back to the inn, the voices in my head whispering to me words that were unintelligible, so much that only a madman could ever understand them.
I ran straight towards the room where I was staying and grabbed the shotgun. I got as much ammo as I could and headed back towards the alley, where that… that thing, that perversion of a man, was himself perverting my girlfriend’s body. With the gun in my hands, I quickly ended his suffering. After realizing that I just took someone else’s life, I ran back to the ruins of the house, where I thought I would be able to take my own. Mom would be able to take care of herself and I would be free of this madness. I put the gun to my face, only for an old man in a well-dressed, clean business suit to tell me, in a slow European accent, “Stop!”
The old man asked what I was doing, only for me to reply:
“Putting an end to my suffering”, to which he replied:
“Why?”
“Because everyone that I’ve ever cared about, everything I ever had is gone. That stupid flood killed my grandparets, my dad, my girlfriend, my dog, my friends.....EVERYTHING! Everything.....Everything that anyone ever cared about is meaningless, ‘cause it’ll just be taken away”
“I understand, but-”
“No, you don’t. Because you’ve never lost someone you loved or seen your best friends fall to madness or watched your home be destroyed! How could a rich brat who’s never had to see this in his life judge me and say otherwise?”
“You’re not the only one who’s seen his loved ones die and his property confiscated. I should know, I’m Jewish. I’ve been beaten up by people since I was younger than you because of what I am. I’m the last of my family because my sisters and parents were intoxicated by poisonous gasses by animals that dared to call themselves superior while blaming my people for all their problems just because we were different. ”
“Then you should have killed yourself a long time ago.”
“I thought about that, but it never occurred to me”
“Then you’re crazy not to end your suffering”
“No, you’re detraque because you haven’t moved on. Do what you decide, I cannot stop you, because it is your decision whether you want to or not.”
I put the gun down and slowly cried. The old man then said “I know that this hurricane has been hard for you, but When the going gets tough, you’ve got to get tougher. Only you can decide if that is sense enough for you or not.”
He then left me alone, and I went back to the inn, leaving the gun in the ruins.
It’s been three days since then and I’m now living happily in Paris, where I learned that that old man was my mom’s new boss. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve managed to adjust. This will be a good life, good enough.
