Earthquake Predictions

The darkness of the night swept into the museum. The curator rested silently on the ground outside while the alarm chirped a warning, and then went crazy with noise. The door rocked back and forth, shaking violently. The security guard put down his cup of coffee and headed to the open door. It would be an unusual shift for him. The door was not the only thing shaking. The entire museum seemed to rock back and forth as if it were a ship on a stormy sea. Paintings shifted on the wall, swinging and banging, even with all the care that the staff had taken to keep them hung evenly and safely on the wall. Frames chipped and splintered. The canvas paintings seemed to nod at each other as if they all agreed this was the start of something bad.

Then, it got worse. The glass, around the carefully protected paintings, shattered. It lay in tiny pieces like snow on the carpet.

There was a moment of silence. Then it happened: The Thinker wobbled and broke off from his sculpture with a big crash. Mona Lisa's frame splintered and the years of paint could not protect the delicate poplar wood from splitting and falling on the ground, helpless. Finally, with all the shaking, a piece of frame flew directly at The Scream and tore his famous open-mouth.

Then, all trembling stopped. The door banged shut. The alarm silenced itself. And, in spite of the mess, the earth was still.

The Thinker struggled to get up. He gripped the wall and tried to straighten his legs, but they felt very stiff and didn't want to cooperate. "I can't believe how sore I feel. I don't remember doing much except thinking," he said softy, as his rubbed his chin in thought.

"You can't be talking!" Mona Lisa said, surprised. "You are a statue!" But, then she thought to herself , wasn't she just a painting? Did she become alive? But, there were more important things to worry about. She pulled herself away from the background of her painting and began to smooth her dress. "My silk really needs a cleaning. I feel like I have been wearing this dress for centuries," she exclaimed. After rubbing the wrinkles out of her dress, she turned her hand up and noticed her palm was covered with gray dust. "Dust! There is so much dust on my dress! This is terrible to be seen in the public like this!" she said, searching for a handkerchief.

Mona Lisa felt like she had woken from a very long sleep. Her words felt strange as she said them.

The Thinker was still rubbing his chin in thought as he stood by the wall. "You said I shouldn't be talking! Well you are a painting!"