There are certain experiences I want to have: be present at an earthquake, look at cells undergoing meiosis with my own eyes, synesthesia, one of those 'silent' rooms -anechoic chambers- and be in absolute silence for an hour or so...
Speaking as someone who lives in a country where magnitude 7 and higher earthquakes are a fairly regular occurrence... you probably don't want to be in an earthquake.
Well, okay, maybe try one on for size. Magnitude 4 or less, to start with. At first it just feels like you're a bit dizzy, like the ground's unstable. You're not sure if the world really is shaking, or if you've just been working too hard lately and you're feeling too tired. And then you hear the rumble. That's the actual earth making sounds, the sound of the ground beneath your feet. You usually don't think of the ground making sounds, how could it? It's just there. It sits there, silent, stable, unmoving. Saying the ground is making sounds is like saying a piece of paper just got up and painted my ceiling. It's just not something paper does, just like making sounds is not something the ground is supposed to do.
And then you hear the creaking. That's the sound of the concrete, steel, and glass in the buildings around you. Did you know concrete can creak? If you're indoors, you hear the sound coming from the walls themselves. If you're outside, you hear the buildings around you groaning and faintly cracking.
And then everything's kicked up a notch. Up to magnitude 6 or so now. Items are starting to fall over and get knocked off shelves. You want to reach out and steady everything, but you only have two hands, and inevitably something's going to fall off its perch and shatter on the ground. Maybe it's a glass of water. Maybe it's your laptop. Maybe it's a priceless Ming vase. So you stabilize what you can, while trying to stay on your feet as much as possible. Because now it's harder to stay on your feet. The oscillation of the earth takes a few seconds to get used to, and until you do, your balance is completely out of whack. Maybe you stumble and fall over, accidentally dragging your other priceless Ming vase down with you. It shatters too.
If you're outdoors, you can definitely hear the concrete cracking now. The sky starts to rain man-made objects: flowerpots from windowsills, ceramic tiles detached from their bases, poorly secured television antennae and satellite dishes. You try to look up, to make sure nothing lands on you, but at the same time you have to look around you too, to make sure no one runs into you and accidentally shoves you into traffic, or that you don't accidentally trip over something. You feel intensely vulnerable, because you could be attacked from literally any direction, including above and below.
And then mother earth decides to go for the grand finale. The earthquake hits magnitude 7, or god help you, even more than that. If you're outside, you may be unlucky enough to witness buildings actually collapsing. Their collapses aren't controlled, like demolitions. Instead, they break apart at seemingly random places, depending on their design and the sort of structural damage they've sustained already. Some break apart at the base, with nearly the entire building toppling to one side, domino-style. Some break apart halfway up the building, and the top half detaches to smash into the ground below. Some of them are pulverized, with enough large cracks appearing in them to turn the building into powder. Some sink into the ground itself, their foundations weakened by the shaking earth, or hollowed out entirely.
And if you're inside one of these buildings at the time, there's nothing you can do. Earthquakes last for mere seconds. There's no time to run, no time to even hide under your desk. Either you survive, or the building you're in collapses with you in it, and you're crushed. Maybe you'll be lucky, and it'll crush your head so you die instantly. If not, though, you'll be pinned under the rubble, completely helpless, unable to see, or breathe, or move. Maybe someone will dig you out later. Maybe not. You have no way of knowing.
And then, when the earthquake's finally over, and everyone catches their breath... that's when the hard part starts.