I wake up in a scratchy and cheap carpet and multi colored walls- it was my room, but it felt so different.
And when I rubbed my eyes, I said to myself
"I am so thirsty"
I went downstairs and asked my mom if I could get something to drink. She smiles, opens her mouth and attempts to talk, but water comes pouring out of her throat. Gallons and gallons.
My jaw drops and my leg shakes a little before I saw "Dad, what's happened to mom?"
He just fixes his glasses and opens his mouth and water spews out of his mouth too.
I run out of my house, seeing puddles everywhere and lakes where the grass used to be.
People are conversing, making glugging sounds, I can't see how they're not drowning. Politicians argue, making streams run all the way down Capital Hill
It's beginning to get so bad, water comes out of every orifice of the bodies to the point of where they stopped being humans and started being channels.
The world once seventy percent water is at least ninety percent now.
This leads to me floating on a raft for the rest of my life, fishing with this rod I stole before the great flood.
Once in a while I get lucky and end up hooking a bag of chips or a shirt I could dry and wear, sometimes I even dive for necessities.
But one thing I never do is drink water.
I either drink soda or whatever I find or I salivate
I won't bring myself to drinking what destroyed my culture, my society, and my loved ones.
I miss my scratchy cheap carpet with my multi colored walls
I am so thirsty.