Write about something that is: flowing.
Bakery was even quieter this morning, but still steady enough to keep me moving until I left shortly after 11. It's a very different crowd now, as I can see the locals returning and the number of tourists dwindling.
Spent the afternoon with Max. Took him to a nearby park so that he could ride his bike around some more. It's impressive to see how comfortable and skilled he's become so quickly.
I stand on my roof and watch the water flow past, carrying with it trees and fences and bits and pieces of my neighbour's lives. Was it only yesterday that this was a street, belonging to cars and trucks and the odd motorcycle?
I look up at the dark clouds looming over me. At least the rain has stopped. Not for long, it would seem, but I will take small blessings wherever I can find them right now.
I look down again. The flood waters have reached above the windows on the top floor. I can feel them stretching upward, their liquid claws eager to snatch me off my sanctuary and drag me off to the end of the world.
I take a step back, sit down on the ridge board that runs along the peak of the roof. The view would be impressive if it wasn't so terrifying. I suppose it still is. Just harder to appreciate in my situation.
I take a deep breath. Try to ignore the hunger gnawing at the walls of my stomach. Acknowledge the loneliness and despair, but refuse to be swallowed by either. Pray for a helicopter on the horizon.
I prepare to die.