flood - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The flood washed away that old world while we watched from rooftops, our feet higher than even our heads once were. We watched the water carry away things we once held dear, never realising what they cost us. Yet at my shoulder, for the first time in so long, was someone I truly loved and loved me back. So I didn't care about that rain-given river that swept through my town, I actually felt better than I ever remembered feeling before.
The flood tore down everything that stood in its way, leaving millions of shards, as if broken hope had become visible. How the deprived village had longed for a few droplets of precious water to bless their fields of wheat. However, even the smallest child could tell that they were not on grounds to neither celebrate such fortune nor let loose a smile - the fear darkened like the low clouds. It was not long before it struck again. Their homes, their work of many years, was washed away as if it were nothing. And so their grief flowed with the brown water, rising, twisting, raw power without conscience; the 4th of January was the last anyone heard of the Breknian people. Not every cloud - has a silver lining.
The street lies below turbid water, sickly green-brown like the river, carrying the trash that usually adorns the sidewalks. It leaks in under the doorways, the slowness of the cold water not mattering - each room filled by morning from wall to wall just like the fading carpets.
The flood water has buried half the wheels of the cars leaving a shiny half moon of each. What was main street now looks more like a river with a few cars parked in it for good measure. Though the rain has stopped the air still feels just as damp and the clouds that brought this on us are yet to depart.
Amy watched the flood carry away an upturned umbrella, swirling in the eddies, moving haphazardly over the surface. She wondered if after it had passed the street would be washed clean, if the sidewalks would be a pale silver instead of the usual sombre graphite.
The river has swollen past the high marks of previous years and the children are giddy with excitement. They sense the tension in the adults and convert it into adrenaline. Every able body is out lowering the embankment on the north side; twenty years ago they did it in the same circumstances. If we can't save both sides we let one flood in the hope that it saves the other. Since then the newer homes on the other side have been built on stilts and all the grain silos have raised floors. There are older homes that won't recover, but they know the community will help them rebuild, this time on stilts like the others. The water is so thick it's like gravy and it moves with a power we haven't seen in many a year. In a few short weeks it will be our gentle friend once more, sparkling prettily, but for now it is the enemy and must be treated with the respect any formidable foe deserves.
The rain had stopped, but the clouds kept the night dark. The city had gorged itself on the floods, and it's skin had swelled and burst in places. The makeshift tables and stalls of street market littered the landscape, torn and broken, as if there was a bar fight. Garbage had spread all over the roads: dried fish, stationary, trinkets, wilted green vegetables, plastic plates, wood carvings, underwear. Without the usual press of people, the ill-lit streets sounded hollow, amplifying the smallest of sounds
The water swirls turbid and brown. In that soup of mud and debris washes away the hopes of our farmers and thus the village as a whole. How we had prayed for the rain to kiss our parched soils, for that precious water to ignite life into the fields, then how we prayed for it to stop. But the droplets fell thick and fast, rendering us unable to see even a few yards ahead of us at a time and turning the river to swollen tyrant, it's surface pitted with millions of drops. It wasn't long before it burst its banks- a flood worse than any in living memory. Now sky is clear, the air merely moist, but the water recedes stealing the fertilizers and the seeds along with it.
The flood brought the odour of the river to the comfortable dwellings at the fashionable end of town. At the designer shades of beige lapped the water with leaf detritus and dirt.
When the flood came the rain fell all the harder, water on water gushing down the unlit streets. In the darkness the gurgles sounding all the louder to the sightless eyes.
The flood was no longer just water. It was a twisted vile shape that tore down lives and homes. Its icy teeth bit away at the unprotected ankles that where submerge in its glory. To say it was human would be horrific and most of all wrong. It was a beast something with no care at all. Something so demonic its surface seemed not to shimmer like the deep oceans but ooze into a dark core, torn to shreds by itself. I was alive, and it was coming.