It’s raining. No one stops to enjoy the rain anymore. It’s a reminder of what’s to come. The end of their lives will come with the rain. No one knows when it will be, but it still lingers in their mind… soon.
Soon the dams will break. And so will people’s lives and homes be destroyed and forgotten. Only the ones in Arcs will remember. Maybe in guilt they will erect a monument for us. The Lost. Or maybe they will swiftly try and forget, and try to erase us. Can they really erase what they were a part of? Blot out the insignificant details that built the lives they live. Nothing but a whisper in the wind.
Sometimes I look into the canals. They weren’t so large once. Once they were pretty to look at. Now canals are just capsules. Containing people’s homes, their lives being drowned. On occasion i’ve seen others stop and stare at the old homes. I think they see their own tombs. Mentally they are already gone, under the water.
I’ve seen some young hopeful, the hopeless, look out at the sky. They are far away, so far from here, this earth. Out there they have hope to see something new. To live a life. To have one to begin with. Breathe a new air untainted. Feel the warmth of a far sun. Maybe when they leave, their soul will find that fair place and rest. Start anew.

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