The Great Flood

Imagine you are Noah in his ark, Deucalion in his chest, or Utnapishtim in his boat. A god has commanded a deluge--for the world to overflow with water. You are sealed inside, warm and dry, but you can hear the storm. It is raging and roaring, the noise deafening, rushing through your ears so quickly there is no room, no time, to hear anything else. You shout to your wife but the only thing heard are waves crashing, the water overtaking the Earth as you huddle, safe in your vessel. All you can think, feel, hear is water pounding, pushing, swarming outside. You are awed by the power, thankful for blessed safety.

Now imagine you are in bed in your house. Outside it's monsooning and you are dreaming about water, about Noah, Deucalion, Utnapishtim, and all the flood myths from around the world. You are incredibly thankful that you are inside, that you are dry, that monsoons end, that, in fact, monsoons only last a few hours altogether, and that it sounds as if you are standing in the middle of a waterfall and isn't that a beautiful thought?

Through the din you sense a sharp, sudden knock. It startles you awake. Someone is yelling but you can't understand them, the monsoon is drowning them out. And then there is light as your door swings open. Your housemate is standing there, yelling about how cold it is, and still--still your head is swimming through water, unable to hear much of anything. Only now you can see, too, and you are not just hearing the monsoon, it's right in front of you; it's cascading down three flights of stairs, gushing into your room, flooding your house. You are no longer safe, you are no longer dreaming, and you are no longer dry. Everything is wet, soaked, drenched, and it is cold, like ice, freezing your toes. The center of your house has become a waterfall and it is most certainly not beautiful.

It's just past 1:30 in the morning and you are experiencing a great, tragic flood without the benevolent assistance of a higher power. The one lousy drain on your roof couldn't keep pace with the pouring rain and you were asleep, totally unaware of the devastation until, by chance, the noise like crashing thunder woke one of your housemates.

You will spend the next half hour ankle-deep in water, unclogging the drain, mopping up the mess, and sulking miserably. The whole time you will be wishing, more than anything, that you are Noah, Deucalion or Utnapishtim and that some god had prepared you for this.