The Write Site

For a while we thought the world might dry up like a grape in the sun. We thought we’d be living on a shrivelled current, all the water gone, people starving in the dust. We were wrong.

The rains came on in late September, not this September, just a September. The year doesn’t really matter anymore. Once they had started, they didn’t stop. They haven’t stopped. Everything is flooded, and there was no ark to keep the future safe. The future, like everything else, is submerged beneath miles and miles of water.

Everything died, including me. My watery grave lies somewhere down where London used to be. Our planet, our Earth, was special because it had all the ingredients for life, and then those ingredients poisoned us. We choked and suffocated on all that life and now we’re just another lifeless ball floating in the blackness of space.