ferus rex

Near 4AM, under the blinkless, blue regard of the moon:

All the lost and meandering waters of the earth began to pool together in one place. They came gently at first, as if possessed with the infinite restraint of geological workings. Inoffensive. Slow. Tiny trickles and rivulets emerged from unseen sources, tracing imperceptibly along the gutters, disturbing only the odd gum wrapper and popsicle stick. At first, it all made no more sound than the wind in the trees. A rasp, a gurgle, a low hiss, as dry became wet. But collectively, the noises of “flood�? gathered out of the relative silence, and began their steady climb to a roar.

The gutters swelled as they did after a flash Summer downpour, forming those small, localized lakes. The lakes deepened, molding along the tiny banks of the curbs, rising, joining with other swelling lakes, until a critical mass was reached and all the water flowed powerfully in a single direction, not with randomness but with purpose. Soon the streets became rivers, merging at the intersections, making deeper frothy, brownish rivers, which were finally more than the curbs could contain. Up and over they flowed, gurgling and surging, assailing the sidewalks. And now swept things became visible too, bobbing and tumbling along in the brown water, arrested long enough by some submerged obstacle for the eye to pick them out — there, a sneaker, over there, a woman’s brassiere.

As the curbs had succumbed, so did the porches and stoops in their turn. The flood penetrated into human dwellings. Stairways were surmounted, locked doors were wrested free of their hinges, and the waters began to assail them in their beds. They were all asleep, fat and heavy and sweating against July’s relentless nocturnal assault. Floor by floor the waters rose in the buildings, drowning them where they lay. Silent under the roar of the flood, mouths gasped and bubbled, limbs flailed briefly then were still. The water was darkly busy with them, as tiny hands stinging eyes, choking throats and muffling screams. The bodies quickly climbed in number, making temporary log jams that the mounting pressure forced through windows and doorways, out into the night.