The Flood.

The Flood.

Water pours into the open window rapidly. Every second matters in the increasing flow of liquid. There’s two feet of water in the room and it’s rising quickly. Outside the yard is submerged beneath an ocean of water. The downpour of rain has left streets inundated with flowing rivers of uncontrollable force.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Air is muggy and thick with the weight of water. Despite the cloudy weather, there isn’t an inch of comfortable in the entire town. Seeking refuge I’m sitting at the counter sipping a milkshake in Tom’s Diner. While fanning myself, I can hear the small talk between the head waitress, May and good ol’ Tom. “According to the county records there hasn’t been rain in this area for ten years. They say the drought is so bad, the chance of producing anything but dust is nonexistent.”

Momma’s linen tablecloths are soaking up the tiny drops of water that crawl out from beneath the door of the attic. Two flights of stairs and a small landing are now consumed by the growing water level overtaking the house. The heavy showers have been constant for two weeks. Storm after storm plagues our once dried up community. Unprepared for the amount of damage several days of pouring rain would cause.

“Well that’s something, what do you think about this storm we have coming in then? Suppose it’ll rain?” Tom and May both shake their heads in unison. Barely a moment later and the heavens light up and a crack of thunder sends buckets of rain down from the heavens. “Well isn’t that something.” Both astonished by the sight filling the streets.

From the eave of the roof, I can see in through the window as it edges up to full. The chairs from the dinette set out floating down in the direction where Ames Street ought to be. The steeple of the First Methodist is still a visible landmark.

The first few days were a bit unsettling. People didn’t mind the inconvenience of muddy streets and stalled vehicles. Panic set in about the time Ned closed down the grocery store due to the roof caving in, which was a few days after the basement in the bowling alley flooded over. Radio announced relief efforts, yet there was none. No makeshift shelter for the stranded. No rescue for those marooned. No end in sight for the flood.

400. Flood. Force of Nature. A rush of emotions. A rush of ideas. A rush of power. A rush of words. An uncontrollable freight train without stop. This is something I’ve been tossing around for a little over a week now. It was set off by a song recommend and then… Voila! On that other… it’s premature, but thank you. For now, there are 2-3 more I need to finish up and the week’s end will bring something that isn’t a surprise. Enjoy! m.