The End

I am standing in the middle of the street in water. Not a puddle of water. Seemingly unending spread of water covering the land as far as I can see. It is moving. It is rising. I don't know where it came from. I don't think it was there a moment ago. Or was it? I can't be sure. Everything looks grim and gray. Not the black and white gray but gray of uncertainty and chaos. 

Everything is out of order. People are running in all directions. Seemingly trying to save themselves. And I wonder if this is how the end looks like. 

It is barely drizzling now but every droplet comes with a promise. It comes even if it knows it isn't welcome. There is already plenty of it; on our streets, in our homes, in our eyes. There is nothing we call ours that could welcome these droplets. Yet the droplets come with an unwelcome insistence to take over and I feel numb all over.

I know I have to join the chaos around me soon. I will have to run in some direction to get somewhere where I will feel safer. Who knows if safer even exists. But I will have to run soon to find the safer ground. 

Because even though it is clear that there is no hope, accepting that would be giving up. Giving up would be letting go of everything that is mine. Perhaps that's how the end looks like. 

I must move. I must run. At least when I know where I should go or when I stop feeling numb long enough to be able to move, or when I am able to talk, shout, cry, think, breathe. Any moment now. I must move. 

If I see someone I know, maybe they will help. But I don't know if I can talk to them, ask them for help, tell them where I need to go. 

Maybe it's better if nobody sees me. I don't want to talk to anyone and tell them what I can't explain. If I don't move long enough, probably no one will notice me standing here. If I don't move long enough, I can kiss the droplets, hug the water, and then there wouldn't be anything to be noticed. Maybe that's how the end looks like.