It had been six days.
Six days of incessant rainfall and still the rain refused to stop.
The attitude towards the weather had changed dramatically as the number of days had risen. Day one had seen excitement and relief. By day three, the city had come to a standstill. Even the most daring had decided to stay put in the comfort (and relative dryness) of their homes. Nothing they had to do was important enough to venture out.
By the fourth day, people had started to get worried. Suddenly a new breed of experts had sprung up and their reasons for the rainfall varied from the mundane to the outlandish. Everyone blamed everyone…god, climate change, man, politicians…even aliens weren’t spared. Fact was, no one knew what was happening or why it was happening.
Except for Rex. He knew exactly what was happening because he had started it. He laughed at their need to find someone to hold responsible so they could make that someone pay. Too late, he chuckled.
As the sixth day drew to a close, people started to get bored and restless. What had been a novelty only a few days ago was no longer so. There was no sign of the sun and the dampness and the constant drip drip drip of the water was starting to get to everyone. Rations were depleting fast, internet had taken a hit, cell networks were patchy at best and there was little to do to pass the time.
Rex knew all this thanks to a battered old radio – his only connect to the world outside. It told him, in equal measure, of the lawlessness and triumph-of-the-human-spirit stories when the rain hadn’t stopped even after ten days. People were getting desperate; the low lying areas were now submerged and the mob had started moving to his part of the town. He could hear his neighbours welcoming strangers – a picture perfect story of humanity coming together to beat the highest of odds.
Bullshit, he wanted to scream to all of them. He had warned them, repeatedly, that this would happen; that their Armageddon wasn’t far away. But had they listened? Of course not. They had dismissed him as a cur, unworthy of intelligent thought.
Look who is smiling now, he thought cruelly. He was standing at the window in his apartment that overlooked the city. He saw nothing but water, debris and scattered and displaced people. Even from his high abode, he could smell their desperation as the stink of certain death hung heavily around them. He could hear their pitiful cries, their curses and their powerless threats: this is what divine music consisted of.
Let them all drown in their despicable shame and smallness. For once they were gone, and they would be in another three days, it would just be him. And he would rule over the ruined city as he had promised.
For December, I will be writing stories based on prompts I have gotten from friends, family, friends of friends and some generous people on Twitter. Thank you Neha for this prompt.