"Roses are red; violets are blue. . ."

Winston paused as he thought about the next line of his impromptu poem. I had challenged him, and since he was up for it, bragging about being the best poet between us, I insisted that he should start the game. I needed time to think of my version.

On nights like those, talking to Winston was a good way to forget negative thoughts.

Winston smiled as he rubbed his trimmed beard, "The words are coming. Just give me time, and stop laughing so much."

I fanned at my ear when a mosquito sang nearby. "Admit it, you have nothing! I can tell who the winner is already."

"Thank you darling."

"Well?" I turned the overhead fan on.

"Roses are red; violets are blue. . .I like ice cream, but only love you," he sat back with a satisfied look on his face. "How was that Love?"

"Boring. Alright, it was kinda cute." The food in my stomach was at a standstill. I sat upright in bed, and adjusted the laptop's screen.

"OK, let's see if you can raise the bar."

"I will. Roses are red; Brunneras are blue. . ."

"Ooo," Winston interjected.

"You are my sunshine, that's why I love you all the time," I stuck my tongue out. "See? I'm the winner."

He nodded in approval, "OK not bad, you win."

The radiation glaring on tired eyes was a slumber-inducing drug, "Congratulations on not being a sore-"

The rattling bed and a low, rumbling noise interrupted me. . .then it stopped. Francine appeared at the door with wide eyes inquiring, "Did you feel that?"

"What happened?" Winston asked.

I sighed, "An earthquake."

Francine sat beside me, "Disaster seems to follow us everywhere." She looked at Winston with suspicion, "I wonder why. . ."

"So I'm the villain?"

"Duh," Francine slapped at a mosquito. It flew away gorged with blood.

"Blame it on the Flood Francine," I said.

"I just hope what we felt was it," she stood up to leave. "I washed the dishes, and put everything away. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow Lovette. Bye Winston!"

"Bye," he responded, and soon the door of my apartment close clicked shut.

We gazed at each other---he with amusement and I with heavy eyelids, because sometimes words weren't necessary. The rapid pulse and emotional high of young love ended months ago. Comfortable, mutualistic warmth replaced it.

I was slipping in and out of my sleepy state when Winston giggled, or at least that's how it sounded.

"What?" I struggled to suppress another yawn.

"You should have seen your face just now, get some sleep Love."

"Al-right. . ." My eyes were closed then.

"I love you, and keep safe."

•●•

Dr. Antunes' shadowed silhouette was a bold contrast to its bright surroundings, and as he shifted from his position against the door frame to move into the intensifying Brazilian sunlight, he raised a hand to shield dark, dominating eyes under heavy, grey streaked eyebrows. Those eyes were a hint to our trip coordinator's personality.

Francine walked in step with me as we put the last sets of bedding into a waiting vehicle, but the only problem was nobody shared with me the shadow of a troubling premonition. It was like a sad memory---you forget about it when the sun is high until dusk falls, and the feeling keeps you up some nights.

The secret shadow didn't have a definite beginning I could pin-point. I wondered to myself if time was running out while still young. As I walked through the sunlight, the questions ran wild: How? When? Why?

I thought of the tremor last night, and hoped that really was it.

"Lovette? Something's peeking out."

I had closed the stuffed trunk, only to find Francine pointing at. . .what? I crouched and inspected the fault she found, a plastic bubble, and that discovery earned one of my rare eye-rolls as we went into the van. She insisted it didn't hurt to point it out, for sanitation purposes of course. A speck of dust had terrible consequences for the vulnerable.

Francine made matters worse by soon occupying herself through scrapping something off the window with a short thumbnail. I nudged her with my elbow, "You find fault in everything."

"There's nothing wrong with being neat." Francine's concentration on something so small added to the moment's weirdness.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with that, but you're crossing the line."

She frowned, and the scrapping slowed down, "That's what mom says," then she looked at me with amusement, "but considering the fact that I'm a nurse, my behaviour is normal. Right Andrew?"

Dr. Andrew Darson---star Obstetrician and undisputed champion of various eating competitions---was sitting in the seat behind us, listening to the conversation while playing Candy Crush saga on his phone.

And they claim men can't multi-task.

"On the contrary," he gave Francine a sly grin after making a move which made the phone resonate with a bass-toned marvellous, "it's only normal if you live in a hospital twenty-four, seven."

Francine facial expression screamed annoyance, "You know what? I'll never ask you for back-up again." She turned to me, "Forget him, I'm normal."

Andrew rested his chin on the back of our seats, "No you're not."

Francine shoved him back with a finger to his forehead before deciding to pass some time quietly. The van's engine sputtered to life as the others engaged in their own conversations.

Andrew and I sat looking at Francine---the stain she was working at was still there, itching at the cleaning muse in her head---but we didn't see her move a muscle in the minutes that passed, and soon he turned his attention to Lydia beside him. I looked through the window at the buildings, and everything else we passed.

Brazil was a fascinating place overflowing with hidden places, and secrets I wanted to dig out. I thought that one of those days a group of us could take a break and explore because apart from going out for food there was not enough time. In the months already spent there, all my free time was shared among Winston, my family, sleeping. . .and brooding over that nauseating feeling I hoped would leave in the two weeks spent in a poor community.

People were going to get much needed health care. I was getting a new environment, with new distractions.

•●•

João's eyes were fastened on my hand as I rubbed a damp cotton ball on his upper arm. He giggled and showed me the space left behind by a missing milk tooth.

"É legal, como a água." A short, unintentional whistle escaped his mouth. I smiled without fully understand what he said.

"He said 'It's cool, like water'," Rita translated. She was a friendly woman, almost like another mother, and was the current who kept my appointments flowing.

I reassured João, through her, that the next part would be over quickly if he sat as still as possible. His father braced himself for any possible fights, and João's eyes grew big at the syringe I filled with his vaccine. I chuckled at the intensity of his gaze as I prepared a new needle.

I paused, "Você está pronto?"

João nodded, and as the needle came closer he shut his eyes, flinched at the initial sting, then opened them as soon as the pain subsided. The mother nearby marveled at his bravery, and whispered to the girl in her lap.

Mr. Moreno rubbed his son's head. "Senhorita, obrigado."

"Seja bem-vindo, come back if you notice any differences. Some children have negative reactions to the vaccine in the first few days," I replied, and as Rita translated to him, I gave his son a tiny car.

Rita opened her bottle, and tipped the water to her mouth. "That's what you call a brave child."

I nodding in complete agreement before dealing with the next patient. The following days where like that---rain or shine we worked, then the evenings found us resting at an inn nearby.

But while some interruptions are expected, others come as surprises. The sound of my glass of water falling from the bedside lamp stand woke me up from a dream I don't remember, but no-one remembers that when your room is trembling. As the contents on my desk fell and pictures on the walls swayed, the others stirred. I could hear Francine and Andrew calling my name as I dived for cover. "I'm fine! Find a table and get under! Go under nothing but a sturdy table!"

I got no reply, except for the repeat of those instructions by others. The walls of my room were still intact, but I could hear my swift heartbeats as the intensity of the moment forced me to clutch at the table's leg. It was at that moment I heard a frightening crumble coming from another room.

"Oh no, please God," I pleaded. And everything stood still. The moon and stars went on shining; the crickets chirped as if it was a standard night. Rivers of sweat streaked my back, sides and chest as I tried to steady turbulent breaths. I had survived, but needed to get outside.

"Hello?" Dr. Antunes' voice rang clearly through the silent air, "Is everyone alright?"

The others murmured, but I couldn't bother to reply. As I crawled out into the open, a dreadful pain punctured my palm.

I groaned, clutching at my hand as I tried in vain to see the injury through the darkness.

"Lovette?" Craig who was coming towards me with a flashlight, was trailed by Andrew and Francine. Glass pieces crunched as they walked. I stood with weak legs.

He shone the light on the dripping wound, "Sheesh, let's get that out."

I nodded to my bed, "The aid is under there."

"We need to get outside first," Andrew said as he reached for it, so I waited. The place buzzed with the sound of people doing this, and finding out that. Mosquitoes were busy too, sucking blood from ready victims. Irritated, I killed a mating pair on the bench Craig and I were sitting on, and he almost pushed the glass deeper while aggressively fanning at his ear.

Eventually, my wound was dressed and we went to find out our plans for the night. The 8.8 magnitude earthquake had lasted for two minutes, and our coordinator decided that we should take up residence in the community for the night. We couldn't go back into the inn for a change of clothes because of the damage, but there were scrubs left in the vehicles, so we went and after setting up tents in an open area, the survivors came.

The demands were as high as the chance of surviving injury was low for some unfortunate souls.

"Are there anymore bandages?" I asked Francine as she passed with a wailing baby. I had to repeat.

"Nope," she rubbed the infant's back in an attempt to soothe him. "Someone will have to go get more soon."

I glanced at my patient's bleeding arm before reaching for a sterile cloth to compress it, then showed him the prepared "I'll be back" index card. Even the observant translators became doctors that night.

I ran to a van, and tucked the flashlight under an arm to speed up the search. The filled tents were close, but far enough to encourage danger. Footsteps rippled against the wet grass behind me, then a hand reached out and took the flashlight, angling it for me to see better.

"Thanks. . ." I stopped to identify the co-worker, but the features seen weren't familiar, and I inched away. One wrong move could cause disastrous results before more security showed up.

"Por favor, minha esposa precisa de ajuda imediata." He didn't allow himself a breath, all the while keeping the light in my direction.

"No English?" I tried to buy time. "I can't understand you."

He stood looking at me as that familiar feeling made me tremble. This was it. I was going to be murdered in a foreign country away from my family, and the last moments spent with Winston before leaving would be the last time I see him in the flesh.

All thoughts dissipated as he walked towards me. I should've screamed and ran, but panic was a paralyzing thing sometimes. Criminals like the victim I was being---the silent type. Miraculous, bright lights flooded us, and I saw him clearly for the first time. . .his back was arched and one eye was milky-white like his dense hair flapping in the cool breeze, streaked with blood from a head wound.

"¡Parar e colocar as mãos para cima!" A voice ordered, and he froze. An officer was pointing his gun while Dr. Antunes and Francine looked on behind him a few paces away. Several persons under the tent were trying to come closer, but were prevented by security.

The police man repeated himself, "¡Levante as mãos!"

The man turned and dropped the flashlight to put both hands on his head. I wasted no time in moving away.

"Eu só preciso de ajuda," he said, but the officer ignored him and searched the old man before proceeding with his inquiry. The man shook his head enthusiastically to deny all intentions of harming me, but the feeling was still there. It was sickening, and I wished it would go away.

The policeman sighed and turned to us, "Mr. Machado claims he came to you for immediate help. He says his wife is in critical condition and can't be moved as she is, but I'll have a colleague check."

What was left of his home was searched before some of us entered to find an elderly woman lying on the floor spilling an alarming volume of blood. The causes of the injuries were nearby as we tried to stabilize her condition while still exposed to the night air. The building could finish itself off any minute, and there was no guarantee the ground wouldn't shake again.

"After a major earthquake, aftershocks can occur," Winston once told me and so said, so done. The earth groaned and shook , flinging us to the ruined floor, just as we were putting the woman on a gurney. Amidst the screams, we tried to pull the woman and ourselves under a table. Just as I was joining the growing group with my swirling vision and rocking body, the roof fell behind me where Lydia was following.

"Ahhugh!"

Thick blood drops hit my backside and flooded the floor as her bones crunched beneath the weight. Lydia's shrill, gurgling cry still gnawed at my crumbling nerves as everyone stared in horror. I didn't look and everyone screamed for me to hurry, but I wasn't fast enough.

When my torso reached safety, I felt a heavy mass pin my lower body to the floor, and the pain I felt with the nauseating motion of the earth made me jerk and bang my head on the table, sending a feedback which caused my ears to ring.

I felt myself sink into a darkness which mirrored the darkest hour of a moonless night. Midnight.