Tragedy struck Japan at 2:46 p.m. on Friday when the nation was rocked by a colossal earthquake with a magnitude of 8.8, by far surpassing the intensity of any quake this country has ever seen.
Miyagi Prefecture in northeastern Japan and surrounding prefectures bore the brunt of the massive trembler, which according to the Japan Meteorological Agency, was more ferocious than the Great Kanto Earthquake in Tokyo in 1923, which killed more than 140,000 people.
In the nation's capital, some 300 km away from the hardest-hit regions, the earth moved. In the crowded shopping district of Shibuya, panic-stricken people stood swaying in disbelief as the quake literally shook them around.
Some sought open spaces for sanctuary, an almost impossible mission in the bustling, concrete metropolis. Others stood and stared as a building in mid-construction, with a giant industrial crane resting on its upper levels, swayed back and forth precariously, threatening to tumble at any minute.
People fled to the streets from high buildings and traffic at the capital's busiest intersection came to a halt as never-before- heard earthquake sirens blared out. Tokyo is no stranger to quakes, but when the sirens are screaming, everyone knows that tragedy has just struck.
Moments later a second tremor was felt, not as large as the first, but big enough to ensure that the city was well and truly paralyzed.
Fearing for the safety of loved ones, every displaced Tokyoite (Tokyo inhabitant) frantically went for their mobile phones, quickly jamming the networks and starving people of news.
As people desperately tried to flee the capital's built up areas, taxis quickly became scarce. Harsh negotiations kicked off at a number of taxi stands as people tried to plead with others to let them go first. In one act of compassion an elderly lady was escorted to the front of a queue of more than 200 people, by a rough-looking male youth who clearly had a big heart.
Just as the panic started to settle for a moment, shards of glass rained down on passersby as windows in a number of offices in the city quickly exploded under the force of another jolt.
With no means of communication, small groups were seen huddling around TV's in window displays. The groups swelled as the screens became the sole source of much needed information.
The shock and sadness was palpable in Tokyo as TV coverage by public broadcaster NHK pumped out images of crippled buildings and blazing fires in and around Miyagi.
One group sighed in collective relief as NHK reported that none of the 11 nuclear reactors in the quake-stricken region had failed. "At least it's a natural disaster and not a nuclear one," said Miho Sugiyama, a local elementary school teacher.
"Those poor people," exclaimed Ken Sakamoto, a jewelry store owner in Shibuya.
"I have friends and family in Fukushima (close to Miyagi), I'm at a loss for words, I don't know what to do," he said frantically.
NHK showed the death toll had risen from 15, to 20 then upwards to 30 people. News that Kudan Kaikan hall in Chiyoda Ward in central Tokyo collapsed sent a fresh wave of fear sweeping through the crowds. Black smoke following an explosion in the Odaiba district also unsettled the masses as did scenes of an iron factory ablaze in neighboring Chiba prefecture.
The tsunami warning was inevitable. The size of the torrent was not. Live broadcasts showed a massive muddy surge of water and debris engulf a large residential area near Natori River in Miyagi. The fast moving stream devoured everything in its path. Nothing remained.
Images of cars being swept into the sea when a tsunami hit Kamaishi port in Iwate Prefecture, had Tokyoites fearing for the fate of loved ones. For the fate of the nation.
With no phones and no transport and the very real threat of further aftershocks, the fear in people's eyes was haunting.
"This could be it. Tokyo is long-overdue a big earthquake, and when it comes this city will be nothing more than rubble," said Sakamoto.
"This is a sad, sad day for the people in and around Miyagi. This is a sad day for Japan," he said.