The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

82
The Flood
Anna Kaye-Rogers
The rain is stagnant in the yard, spreading muddy pools across the grass. Each pawprint
has become a lake as blades of grass choke for chlorophyll. The sun still exists but it has
not been seen for several days. Her little puppy sits with her nose almost touching the
glass, wistfully gazing toward her flooded yard. Rain drops fall thick and hard and she
does not want to play in them. Not today. It has been raining for days, and Amelie is
beginning to forget what warmth and sunshine feels like. She wonders dully, her hands
submerged in dishwater, if it will ever stop raining. If it is possible that the river will fill
up all the way up the hill and into the house, until it covers all the grass and all the trees
and the world has ended. Amelie believes in global warming, not Biblical literature, but
it is Noah’s ark she thinks of now, and wonders if perhaps she had better start believing
again.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Micah remarks between mouthfuls of cereal. He has
refilled the bowl several times, and Amelie is beginning to glare each time he pours more
milk. Neither want to leave the house, not with the cold rain and the bleak temperature,
neither hot nor cold but simply absent.
“Do you ever worry the world is going to end?” She asks, already regretting asking
the question. It is not a logical fear, but simply a thought that has been lurking in her
mind since the flood warning text alert came in. What if just rains and rains until no
one is left to be warned?
He laughs, but it’s not really a humorous sound. It sounds like his usual laugh, when
he finds her question ridiculous more than funny. “It’s just rain, Aim.”