This was a very short piece of flash fiction written on the fly
as twitter fiction. A very rare non-erotic piece.
That night in Bangkok it began to rain. Black and wet the streets, the buildings, the myriad lights splayed by liquid.
It rained the next day. And the next. It didn’t stop. We watched from our towering hotel perch the city turn to mud, then lakes.
The canals grew and joined. The streets became canals. And still the rain didn’t stop. Everywhere became another river market.
Still the water rose. Past the first floor, the second, the third. Like ants we climbed upwards, taking what we could
At first civilized in our ascension, joined in common crisis. As the water reached the tenth floor, the city disappeared.
No parks, no skytrain. Nothing but obelisks in a sea of filthy water. Hunger and fear and anger ate away at our civility.
People fought for space, for food, for clean water. Until they were throwing each other from windows in desperate rage.
And you and I climbed ever upwards, waiting for the water to drop. But it didn’t. The unceasing rain. Empty floors filled.
People became animals. Drinking the filthy water, eating the dead. Crying to Buddha for mercy, clutching withered jasmine
Burning joss sticks that smoked all the more in the intense humidity.
On the 28th floor we discussed it, you and I. ‘I don’t want to die this way,’I said.’Not of slow starvation, or forget who I am.’
‘Neither do I. But at least we get to choose.’ And so we agreed to take our last holiday swim in the dirty world of water.
Treading in the mass of detritus with the city down beneath our feet, I said: “Just go under and then breathe? Is that it?”
“Yes, like that. One deep breath,” You said, then let go of my hand, pushing me away hard, before you changed your mind.
“Now?” I was crying. And I saw it in your eyes, just before you slipped under, and I followed.