When Everyone Drowned
Molly watched as she crouched on top of her wooden post as the waters gently rose a few more inches and silently swallowed up the highest peak of the tower. It had been the tallest building in the city and now it was gone too. Only hours ago Molly had thought that surely the flood wouldn’t continue to rise; that there was no way it would get this high. But it had risen higher and it was still rising and now the last building on the highest mountain was gone. All that was left were these stupid wooden posts jutting up around her. The whole world had flooded over, leaving her perched here like an awkward flightless bird.
Molly thought about her house and remembered the world map made of flat carved rock hung up in a portrait in her living room. China had been made from granite, Brazil from obsidian, Greenland from sandstone. There had been others too but Molly couldn’t remember all the exact details. Marble, slate, diorite. Rocks, solid rocks. She’s never see solid again; all was liquid now. Her map was a long way down in the depths of the water along with her house, her car, and all those drowned people. Her rock map had reminded her she’d wanted to travel and see the world. She’d never do that anymore. Molly shifted on her wooden post and sighed under her breath. How stupid. Why was she even on this post anymore? What could be the point in prolonging the inevitable?
Sandoval, the elderly man on her left, scratched his brown nose and let out a fart. He smacked his lips and looked at her, giving a shrug.
“That’s the last one I guess, garotinha. No more inundação: no more flooding. The building’s gone.”
Molly shook her head, pursing her lips. “No, it’s still rising. You measure it by looking down at the posts. It’s catching up to us now.”
Sandoval looked down and rolled his eyes. “Que dor.”
“You know I can’t understand you when you speak Spanish.” Molly said, feeling her frustration rise.
Sandoval gave her a toothy grin. “It’s Portuguese garotinha. I just said what a pain. That’s all.”
Molly turned and looked at the other posts around them. They progressively grew taller until the final one, a few meters away.
“Let’s wait until the water’s a little higher before we move to the next post. We can stay here for a little bit more.” she said.
“It’s getting higher now.” Sandoval warned, scratching at his chin as he jutted his neck out. He looked at her. “I’m moving up.”
He stood from his crouched position and turned in place, reaching out for the next post only a couple of feet away. He had to lean over the water, his hands stretching over air as gravity pulled him. His body angled and his arms grabbed the top of the post. Surprisingly limber for an old man, Molly observed. Sandoval jumped and wrapped his legs around the taller post and scrambling up with a little bit of grunting, he sat in his new perch. He turned to Molly and blew her a kiss. She grimaced.
“I only just met you, you know.” she said in disgust. She turned away and watched as the water crept steadily and slowly, closer and closer to her platform.
“We should get to know each other then, garotinha. Tell me about yourself.”
“What’s the point? We’re going to be dead soon.”
“Okay, I’ll start then.” he said with a shrug. Molly sighed, why did her last hours of life have to be spent like this with this man out of all people?
“I was born in South America quite some time ago. Um lugar muito bonito. A very beautiful place. Ever been?”
“Obsidian.” Molly said. Sandoval gave a confused look.
“It’s a map. I have a map of the world. South America is made of Obsidian on the map. Forget it.”
Sandoval nodded. “You like geography eh? Well, let old Sandoval tell you then about where I lived.
“There was this little town; the streets tan and made of dirt, the houses made of cinderblocks and cement. You could hear children yelling and laughing, playing futebol: soccer on the streets. In the background you could hear Samba music echoing out as some woman washed clothes by hand in her kitchen sink, her window wide open to let in the fresh air and the small breeze. Wild dogs barked and ran in small packs, tails wagging and begging for scraps. You could smell beans and rice being cooked somewhere; all the children licking their lips, hungry after running all day in their sandals.
“There were almost no vehicles so the only sound came from the people. It was a calm and happy place. The dirt was the town’s foundation but so was the peace. You would wake up in the morning to the sound of the neighbor’s rooster and drink chimarrão as you watched the sun rise over the distant green forest mountains. It was the only time of the day where the air felt crisp and new. It was the best way to start the morning.”
Molly blinked, coming back to reality from the wonderful place Sandoval had talked about. The water was almost to her feet. She turned and using the same technique Sandoval had, grasped at the next post and scrambled up.
“Sounds nice. Why’d you leave the place?”
Sandoval frowned and a far-away look came over his eyes.
“The world found us. Drugs, alcohol, gambling. A lot of people became lazy workers. You began to see more drunks wandering the streets and arguing with the wild dogs than children playing futebol. Ah garotinha, if only you could have seen that place when I was a child.”
“That place is gone now.” Molly stated. “All those people are dead.”
Instead of taking offence, Sandoval just looked off into the distance. “That place has been gone for a long time. The people too.”
Molly stared at the water as it gently swallowed up the post she had been on just a few moments ago.
“It just keeps rising. I don’t even know where all this water’s coming from. We’re going to drown Sandoval.”
The old man continued to stare into the distance, gazing beyond what could be visibly seen.
“I moved from that place. Found a home in the city. It was so different there. Era barulhento. Noisy and busy. The people looked straight ahead, not at each other. The suits and coffee and ‘deadlines’. The traffic and honking. The swearing and stress. I’d wake up to the cold floor and electric alarm instead of the rooster. Finding a good job was difficult, so I moved to America.”
“Phyllite.” Molly said. “That’s what it was made from in my map. Did you come here legally?”
Sandoval grinned. “Not at first. Que dificuldade! It was difficult. But I’m a citizen now.”
Molly scoffed. “Like I care. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Sandoval shook his head and the two both turned, grabbing at the next posts and scrambling up.
“Of course it matters!” the old man said.
Molly frowned. “No it doesn’t. America drowned.”
“Garotinha, I worked hard to become a citizen. I learned from it. Became a stronger person because of it. It matters because it made me who I am.”
“What’s the point of holding on to that?” Molly spat. “Everything we worked for is gone.”
“Well tell me about yourself.” Sandoval said, indicating to her with his hand. “What did you work for?”
Molly looked back at the water, watching it rise and feeling the incoming death eat away at her will.
“I was a secretary at a college. I worked part-time while being in class. I wanted to become a writer and see the world.”
Sandoval smiled, waiting for her to continue. Molly bit at her lip, feeling herself open a little.
“I was trying so hard. I went to all the writing conventions, all the book signings, and talked to everyone. I really thought I had a chance. I even wrote at work! Even at work!”
Molly felt tears coming to her eyes and she tried to stop them, her face growing hot. She hid her face by looking down at the water.
“There’s no point now. My books won’t ever work out.”
“There is garotinha!” Sandoval exclaimed with a calm face. “Did you write them for money or because they were important to you? Because that’s where it matters! Doing something for yourself; for your passion. It made you a deeper person. Mais refinado.”
Molly shook her head, allowing herself to fall farther into abandon. “That map sunk, Sandoval. Sunk like all of us. Sunk like my dream.”
Sandoval gave a pained look and stared into the distance. “Don’t give up yet, garotinha. Not yet.”
“Andesite, basalt, gabbro, soapstone, limestone. All part of that map.”
Sandoval moved up to the top post, the highest one. He reached a hand out. “Come stand up here with me garotinha. I have enough room.”
Molly shook her head, tears now coming freely. They fell from her cheeks to the water that was now lapping at the edge of the post. Sandoval waved his extended hand, indicating she should hurry. Anxious for her to climb up after her. Molly ignored him and instead watched as the water broke over the small surface she stood on and wet her shoes.
“Venha aqui. Come here garotinha. Don’t let your shoes get wet.”
His eyes now looked a little shiny, as if tears were about to spill.
She shook her head. “No. There’s no point. Everything is already wet. Our dreams have drowned.”
Molly took a step forward. Her body plummeted into the water and sunk straight down. Sandoval opened his mouth then closed it, gritting his teeth. He clenched his jaw and looked away. Far below, Molly joined her sunken map.
Sandoval looked off into the distance, now standing on the last post above the water. The old man watched as a boat appeared on the horizon, heading his way.
Molly thought about her house and remembered the world map made of flat carved rock hung up in a portrait in her living room. China had been made from granite, Brazil from obsidian, Greenland from sandstone. There had been others too but Molly couldn’t remember all the exact details. Marble, slate, diorite. Rocks, solid rocks. She’s never see solid again; all was liquid now. Her map was a long way down in the depths of the water along with her house, her car, and all those drowned people. Her rock map had reminded her she’d wanted to travel and see the world. She’d never do that anymore. Molly shifted on her wooden post and sighed under her breath. How stupid. Why was she even on this post anymore? What could be the point in prolonging the inevitable?
Sandoval, the elderly man on her left, scratched his brown nose and let out a fart. He smacked his lips and looked at her, giving a shrug.
“That’s the last one I guess, garotinha. No more inundação: no more flooding. The building’s gone.”
Molly shook her head, pursing her lips. “No, it’s still rising. You measure it by looking down at the posts. It’s catching up to us now.”
Sandoval looked down and rolled his eyes. “Que dor.”
“You know I can’t understand you when you speak Spanish.” Molly said, feeling her frustration rise.
Sandoval gave her a toothy grin. “It’s Portuguese garotinha. I just said what a pain. That’s all.”
Molly turned and looked at the other posts around them. They progressively grew taller until the final one, a few meters away.
“Let’s wait until the water’s a little higher before we move to the next post. We can stay here for a little bit more.” she said.
“It’s getting higher now.” Sandoval warned, scratching at his chin as he jutted his neck out. He looked at her. “I’m moving up.”
He stood from his crouched position and turned in place, reaching out for the next post only a couple of feet away. He had to lean over the water, his hands stretching over air as gravity pulled him. His body angled and his arms grabbed the top of the post. Surprisingly limber for an old man, Molly observed. Sandoval jumped and wrapped his legs around the taller post and scrambling up with a little bit of grunting, he sat in his new perch. He turned to Molly and blew her a kiss. She grimaced.
“I only just met you, you know.” she said in disgust. She turned away and watched as the water crept steadily and slowly, closer and closer to her platform.
“We should get to know each other then, garotinha. Tell me about yourself.”
“What’s the point? We’re going to be dead soon.”
“Okay, I’ll start then.” he said with a shrug. Molly sighed, why did her last hours of life have to be spent like this with this man out of all people?
“I was born in South America quite some time ago. Um lugar muito bonito. A very beautiful place. Ever been?”
“Obsidian.” Molly said. Sandoval gave a confused look.
“It’s a map. I have a map of the world. South America is made of Obsidian on the map. Forget it.”
Sandoval nodded. “You like geography eh? Well, let old Sandoval tell you then about where I lived.
“There was this little town; the streets tan and made of dirt, the houses made of cinderblocks and cement. You could hear children yelling and laughing, playing futebol: soccer on the streets. In the background you could hear Samba music echoing out as some woman washed clothes by hand in her kitchen sink, her window wide open to let in the fresh air and the small breeze. Wild dogs barked and ran in small packs, tails wagging and begging for scraps. You could smell beans and rice being cooked somewhere; all the children licking their lips, hungry after running all day in their sandals.
“There were almost no vehicles so the only sound came from the people. It was a calm and happy place. The dirt was the town’s foundation but so was the peace. You would wake up in the morning to the sound of the neighbor’s rooster and drink chimarrão as you watched the sun rise over the distant green forest mountains. It was the only time of the day where the air felt crisp and new. It was the best way to start the morning.”
Molly blinked, coming back to reality from the wonderful place Sandoval had talked about. The water was almost to her feet. She turned and using the same technique Sandoval had, grasped at the next post and scrambled up.
“Sounds nice. Why’d you leave the place?”
Sandoval frowned and a far-away look came over his eyes.
“The world found us. Drugs, alcohol, gambling. A lot of people became lazy workers. You began to see more drunks wandering the streets and arguing with the wild dogs than children playing futebol. Ah garotinha, if only you could have seen that place when I was a child.”
“That place is gone now.” Molly stated. “All those people are dead.”
Instead of taking offence, Sandoval just looked off into the distance. “That place has been gone for a long time. The people too.”
Molly stared at the water as it gently swallowed up the post she had been on just a few moments ago.
“It just keeps rising. I don’t even know where all this water’s coming from. We’re going to drown Sandoval.”
The old man continued to stare into the distance, gazing beyond what could be visibly seen.
“I moved from that place. Found a home in the city. It was so different there. Era barulhento. Noisy and busy. The people looked straight ahead, not at each other. The suits and coffee and ‘deadlines’. The traffic and honking. The swearing and stress. I’d wake up to the cold floor and electric alarm instead of the rooster. Finding a good job was difficult, so I moved to America.”
“Phyllite.” Molly said. “That’s what it was made from in my map. Did you come here legally?”
Sandoval grinned. “Not at first. Que dificuldade! It was difficult. But I’m a citizen now.”
Molly scoffed. “Like I care. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Sandoval shook his head and the two both turned, grabbing at the next posts and scrambling up.
“Of course it matters!” the old man said.
Molly frowned. “No it doesn’t. America drowned.”
“Garotinha, I worked hard to become a citizen. I learned from it. Became a stronger person because of it. It matters because it made me who I am.”
“What’s the point of holding on to that?” Molly spat. “Everything we worked for is gone.”
“Well tell me about yourself.” Sandoval said, indicating to her with his hand. “What did you work for?”
Molly looked back at the water, watching it rise and feeling the incoming death eat away at her will.
“I was a secretary at a college. I worked part-time while being in class. I wanted to become a writer and see the world.”
Sandoval smiled, waiting for her to continue. Molly bit at her lip, feeling herself open a little.
“I was trying so hard. I went to all the writing conventions, all the book signings, and talked to everyone. I really thought I had a chance. I even wrote at work! Even at work!”
Molly felt tears coming to her eyes and she tried to stop them, her face growing hot. She hid her face by looking down at the water.
“There’s no point now. My books won’t ever work out.”
“There is garotinha!” Sandoval exclaimed with a calm face. “Did you write them for money or because they were important to you? Because that’s where it matters! Doing something for yourself; for your passion. It made you a deeper person. Mais refinado.”
Molly shook her head, allowing herself to fall farther into abandon. “That map sunk, Sandoval. Sunk like all of us. Sunk like my dream.”
Sandoval gave a pained look and stared into the distance. “Don’t give up yet, garotinha. Not yet.”
“Andesite, basalt, gabbro, soapstone, limestone. All part of that map.”
Sandoval moved up to the top post, the highest one. He reached a hand out. “Come stand up here with me garotinha. I have enough room.”
Molly shook her head, tears now coming freely. They fell from her cheeks to the water that was now lapping at the edge of the post. Sandoval waved his extended hand, indicating she should hurry. Anxious for her to climb up after her. Molly ignored him and instead watched as the water broke over the small surface she stood on and wet her shoes.
“Venha aqui. Come here garotinha. Don’t let your shoes get wet.”
His eyes now looked a little shiny, as if tears were about to spill.
She shook her head. “No. There’s no point. Everything is already wet. Our dreams have drowned.”
Molly took a step forward. Her body plummeted into the water and sunk straight down. Sandoval opened his mouth then closed it, gritting his teeth. He clenched his jaw and looked away. Far below, Molly joined her sunken map.
Sandoval looked off into the distance, now standing on the last post above the water. The old man watched as a boat appeared on the horizon, heading his way.
