The Flood

• Ruby Ruscoe, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2021

The sky glows fluorescent white. The trees shrink. The air turns cold, and silence is sliced upon Avenue. I arise from bed, my bedsheet a mangle of cotton, and walk over to my window. The thin glass feels like ice on my fingers. I trail a sad face. I stare out into the dry paddocks, as they turn deep brown with the merge of raindrops. They pour like a blanket, hiding every inch of land to melt and ooze. I walk over to the window opening, and clamber over the window seal. The thick oak wood slicing paper cuts in my thigh. The cry of cows is muffled under the roar of thunder. I shudder. I’m standing under the smallest bit of shelter our house has to offer, and I sit. I sit under the rain, pouring in my gum boots, and running down my back. It creates a puddle next to me. It’s created hundreds more, all filling with cold water, making a flood like painting. Then it happened…

The water rose to the house level, but kept on rising! It filled Dad's work boots, and submerged hundreds of ants into their worst nightmare. I run along the flood waters, my feet purple and blue. I clamber through the window before it’s too late. I sit on the edge of my bed. The water pours through the windows and I hear a piercing scream. “ANNABELLE!” I scream! I begin to sprint down the hallway, and sweep Annabelle into my arms. Her tiny dress is sodden and her eyes are bloodshot. I hold her in one arm, and run, slowing to go find May-Belle. “May-Belle!” I scream, my voice scary and shrill. “Charlie!” A scared voice escapes from the bathroom. There she is, her small feet dangling on the counter, almost fully under the water. She screams when the water hits her toes. I pick her up in my left arm and run down the hallway, grabbing a bag full of toilet paper, food, and Annabelle's favourite teddy. “MOTHER!” I sound like Dad. I sound like, DAD. “DAD, MUM, WHERE ARE YOU?!” My voice turns panicky and May-Belle begins to cry, tears running down her already sodden dress.

The rain stops. The flood begins to evaporate and vanish. The sky turns hazel orange. The wind disappears. “Charles wake up!” Mothers voice is crooked and weak. I stare out the window. The rain began to fall.