Ben opened his eyes. Darkness pressed against him.Bit of a cliche.
The whole world tilted and spun.How can he tell, if he's blind?
He tried to reach out into the space in front of him, but he couldn't lift his arms.I'm confused about where we are and what's going on. And you know I have a low tolerance for that.
He tried to wiggle his toes, to roll over. He realized that he couldn't move at all. He felt his chest tighten.
He gasped for air. Was he trapped? He remembered the museum shaking and rumbling, then collapsing. How long was I knocked out? He thought. Is anyone looking for me?
"Help," he yelled. "Help me! I'm over here!"
Everything started shaking again. Something slid off his face. White light stabbed his unready eyes. He squeezed them shut and yelled again. The room lurched wildly from side to side, like a ship in a storm. In the distance, he heard a buzzing sound. He thought he heard footsteps and voices.
Ben opened his eyes again, slowly this time, so they could adjust to the light. The first thing he saw was the machine.Isn't he covered in rubble? What machine? How did a museum collapse on him and not crush him?
It was covered in dials and buttons and threaded through with strange tubes.Wait, it's a familiar enough machine to get the article "the", but the tubes on it are strange? Hasn't he seen this machine before?
A rainbow of wires cascaded from the top of the machine, then ran along the wall and through a hole in the ceiling. Some of the wires and tubes looked like they'd been yanked loose. One tube hung limply, pouring red liquid onto the floor. Is that blood? Ben thought. My blood?That's it. I'm lost, and getting fed up with feeling lost.
He'd never seen so much blood before. It made a shiny red lake that spread quickly across floor. Why was it spilling everywhere? Why didn't anyone come and make it stop?Ok: starting in the action = good. Starting where your reader can't tell what any of the action means = not so good. Maybe clarifying this will only be a matter of adding a little and subtracting a little. Or maybe it will involve starting again. Why not back up to when the museum starts shaking?
The room slowed down, until it was hardly moving at all. Then the people in blue came swarming through the door. They shouted to one another. One put a cuff around Ben's arm, another examined his eyes. A large group of them gathered around the machine, poking and prodding it. Ben tried to understand what they were saying, but their voices buzzed together like a cloud of gnats.
Nurses! Ben thought woozily. Those must be nurses! I'm in the hospital. His throat felt dry and scratchy. He glanced at the machine. He must be hurt pretty bad. "Where are my parents?" Ben rasped. "Are they okay? Am I okay?"
The room trembled again. An Aftershock! Ben thought. That thing at the museum – it must have been an earthquake.