Human Condition, The

Last night, the lake broke loose. Its black pearl waters, yeah. Leaped out in cascades from the man-made banks, sank its islands, its own children and entered your house. Calmly at first; then fierce. Now black fish play in the balcony. Your plants are all gone. Water everywhere. It's inside the wet clothes inside the washing machine. It's in your bed. You're floating like in a dream. But this is real. The waters on which the moon once saw itself now is all you can see. It's all pervasive. Intractable. It's shattering your crockery. You look down the stairs, your car's floating away. The air is damp, cold, unfuckwithable. You puke your guts into that air. Your intestines are all jumbled up. Chest hurts, you're nauseous, can't breathe. Asphyxiated. Then you realize, you're the one holding your own neck, squeezing it tight, draining you breathless. But you can't let go. There's more water now. It's filling in through the door in the hall and through the bedroom door into your bedroom. It's chest high now, neck high now. It's so powerful, you are paralysed with shock. At the same, you're awed. Why You. Why You. Why do you have to do this? Your stomach is turning, your feet can't feel the floor anymore. You're rising. Buoyancy, this. Your big toe lets go, you fall into the water, your knee breaks. You have nothing to hold on to. For a brief moment your eyes, only they, are above the water. Now the water in your room looks exactly like the water in the lake used to, black pearl. As calm, as quiet. It recedes in bits and forms islands in your house. You see, the top of the shelves, refrigerator, coffee table. Ravaged, but still there, somewhat.

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