Bizarre Day

The weirdness started when my brother and I walked up and down fancy stairs to get to the building's club house. Ready to work out, the cold and the constant light rain accompanied us all the way. It hasn't stopped yet, and yes, it is midnight.
Later in the morning, Colombia's Minister of Defense announced that Tirofijo, the FARCs main leader, was dead. He announced it in the middle of an interview, with no planning nor government back-up. He is said to have died in March of a heart attack, which to me is quite ironic. This terrorist, with once pure ideals of social equality and a fair government, wasn't killed in combat or by a military plot. He died of old age. That's how long this absurd war has been. To the point that those who started it are timing out and passing on the torch to their predecessors.
Then was the earthquake. A quick shook up of 5.5 in the richer scale that almost gave me a heart attack that would have put me in the same hell as Tirofijo. Maybe a level or two closer to the ground in Dante's inferno. It was long, and we panicked, and I ran under a door because they always told me in school that was the safest place. After the floor stopped moving and the books were left hesitant in the edge of their shelves, my mom told me, with a giggle,
"Andie, there are no door frames in this house,"
And she was right. The too modern apartment has those gigantic wooden doors that reach all the way up to the ceiling. And so I laughed, as my heart continued to pound, still to the rhythm of the seismic waves.
The epicenter wasn't that far away from Bogota, and around seven people died. I had never felt such a strong shaking of the ground.
And for the last occurrence, the lights have been out in my apartment building all night. They finally came back on, but it doesn't last long. It just seems like I'm going to wake up very very soon.