Outside, the storm rages on.
Loud voices (panicked or excited, I cannot tell)--they find their way into the room I am in and cause me to look down at the people milling about. The water rises and laps at houses.
I close the windows and draw the curtains down. The feeble light that persists through the dark heavy clouds are now but half-hearted shadows. Quietly, I close the door and sink into the old easy chair that my father loved.
Down I go.
I am sitting at the bottom of a great river. I hear nothing but the pockets of air as they make their way up to the skies. Above me, the river swirls violently; but here the currents are obliging. I curl up into a comfortable ball as the velvet seaweeds brush against my feet.
...
A nudge. Kind eyes look down at me and I knew then that things wouldn't be so bad.
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I must be regressing.
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