i wasn't intending for this to be as smite-y and biblical as it turned out.

his eyes opened slowly. they were crusty with plaster and dirt and unwillingness to awaken. he knew, even before they opened, what he was about to see. he was in that state of consciousness when the mind is awake, but the body is not. he could not feel his wounds. he could not hear the silence all around him.
even after his eyelids opened, his eyes refused to tell him. his eyes were sympathetic, parental. his eyes didn't want him to see.
the ceiling was gone. blocks of wood and plaster and tile lay about him in the harsh, unchanging daylight. he felt that his weirdly twisted body was being pressed on passively. he looked down, and saw that he was pinned under a layer of what was once his roof. he sighed and closed his eyes, trying to extend the moment before he had to fight with the debris.
he knew just what had happened. he knew that if he stood up and looked around, the other houses would be untouched. he knew that no matter how hard he fought, he was dying and would not ever get up. he knew that he had made a mistake. he knew that no one was coming to save him.