I know what you are thinking. “Simone, you have to stop this, we are tired of your stories about hallucinations. Seriously, dude, we don’t know what you’ve been smoking but you gotta stop. Go and tell them to some stranger in a pub or your favorite crack house, but stop pulling this shit with us and write something real.”
And you know what? “You’re right, I have to stop writing this stuff all the time. Because the good Lord – the Master of Extraordinary, that is – wants the next Diet Column. But I’m sorry, I just can’t today. I need to talk about yet another incredible morning.
So, there are ducklings in my bedroom. I put my feet on the floor, and it’s wet. Is this a hallucination? It’s real water! Then I go to the bathroom. I look outside. Apparently my house is surrounded by what an English speaker would call a lake… My garden is an ocean and the tree in my backyard is a giant tropical plant. I go to the front door and open it, still in my flip-flops and pajamas. “Fuck…”
There are cars stuck on the street. Water is everywhere. There is no chance of survival. People run through the water and break into abandoned houses to rob the few things that the flood spared. Police cars try to patrol, but they are all stuck in the mud. It’s total anarchy! And then there are all these blondes dressed up to go jogging in the water with iPods attached to their arms as if nothing had happened.
And maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. And I am kinda pissed off. Why, you might ask? Because when I woke up, all of my stuff was ruined; apparently, people here have never heard of a little thing called rain. And since they didn’t build the houses the right way sooner or later there was bound to be a flood. But this isn’t a third world country I’m writing about or some nation plagued by the monsoons. I am writing from upstate New York!!! But it could be worse, at least it’s not Alabama…
- Simone la Cuercha