Watery Fate

I clambered and threw myself out to our front porch and fixated my eyes on a disturbing and novel image of an ocean: awake, prepared, and rising higher than my eyes could follow. It was evolving from a peaceful redundant array of tides and waves into a sinister, ponderous barricade of water. Growing and growing, it enveloped the horizon and sucked all the light in the sky. Its ghastly figure hungrily barraged, swept, consumed, and left lifeless everything in its path: a living army from nature preparing a burial for all in its wake.

All the houses in our vicinity were abandoned as its owners fled, running as far away from the enormous tsunami. Majorities were taken alive, submerged deep within a menagerie of automobiles, lampposts, and mailboxes—all united by a 300 mph train of liquid. Panic filled their minds either leaving them pounding their feet on the ground faster or just shutting their systems down, leaving them half-alive in the imminent chaos. For most of them, it was the end; the end of it all.

I stood there on my front porch. I witnessed a mass grave coming to life. I saw the deaths of people whose faces I recognized. The moment that blue juggernaut struck, living violence appeared vivid in my eyes. A tear fell from my eye without me realizing. I froze. The water was closing in, and I knew it was too late. There was nothing left to do, nothing else but to embrace my watery fate.