washed away

When I woke up this morning, the city was flooded and empty. The roads were running with several feet of water and there was nobody left in town. Even the street in front of my house, which is on a hill, had rivulets running down the gutters, little tributaries to the river that was the main road just below.

The power was out and none of my neighbors were home. I guessed everyone was evacuated, but it's still hard to tell for certain. Maybe nobody's left. Maybe I'm all there is. Maybe this was the end.

I stole my neighbor's canoe and went out exploring. Further from my house, closer to the river, things were a lot worse. Flotsam floating down the streets, bits of terrain and houses washed away, tunnels collapsed. All without a soul in sight. Not even birds. It was so quiet.

I rowed my way to the park where I had my first kiss. It was on top of a hill so there wasn't any standing water, but a lot of terrain had been washed away, and the big tree we were standing under was toppled. I dragged the canoe ashore and sat down on the soggy trunk. It was still raining a little, and the waters around me seemed to stretch on forever, broken by the tops of houses all along the way.

We climbed the tree that night and spent what must have been hours in its branches. We carved our initials in the trunk, way up high, so it would be a secret for just us and the birds and anyone else who climbed. I hadn't thought of it until today. It will be dragged away by the city when the rain stops and the flooding dies down. I'm the last person who'll ever notice. Just me, with the waters still rising and no one around for miles.