Its the flood. There is water everywhere,its the final deluge. Its just me in my cosy little room, floating, sinking and again floating like a ball in the water. There is no light anywhere except in my snug. Its just my room, everything else is flooded and gone in the cold dark water which came from everywhere.
The room is warm, a reading light pops from the wall.There are no phones left with voices in them,no mails,no television, no sparrows or hawks left to carry messages. The hunters and the prey, the sparrows and the eagle, threw themselves against cold hearted walls and died. The sea rose up and took all the walls, the ocean destroyed all the seas. The water is everywhere, engulfing, full.
Only my cosy little room remains with the reading light and its warmth. It is the cold,dark water outside.There is nowhere to go, there are no street signs left. All the signs and billboards, all suffixes and prefixes, all the names – both earned and thrust upon have evaporated. The cold,dark waters of the flood took the satellites and the gold bullions , the flood took the moon.
Only my cosy little room remains with the open big book on the red-wood desk. The book is as huge as a bear,but cute. Its the scrap book of the human race, with newspaper cuttings,photos, theories,poems,commandments,report cards,love letters, treaties, birth certificates and nude pictures of greed.There is no chair, so I have to stand and read.
The book is interesting, funny at times, every story brings a smile on my face. The human race never did anything wrong,this flood was inevitable, everything they did was for the flood to come. I just read the book, I don’t judge. There is no judgement day to defeat us. Its cold and dark in the watery womb outside,inside the room its the warmth of intelligence. Its the flood; are you with me.