The rain hadn’t stopped in days
Constant but light it dug into the psyche
A consistent pitter-patter on every surface
Some people got used to it…
Not us.

 

Local radio and news stations had gone out
Their signals drowned and downed by the rain
The channels were there but only added to the sound
An eerie buzzt-slick as each channel was flipped through
Some people gave up on it…
Not us.

The days still passed as madness blossomed
Roads were eroding, flooding, washed away
We piled on to the bus with hope and a faint hisst-erk
Each passenger alighting for a very different purpose.
Some people intended to stay…
Not us.

And as we rode in silence, phantoms to the driver
It started to make sense, these sounds
pitter-patter-bzzt-slick-hisst-erk
“We’re going to flood the Earth”
Some people called us madmen.
Not us.