When the rains came

The rains finally came. After decades of drought, fallow fields, skin like sand, shaking fists at a bleached-out cold fish sky. Except by then, we had evolved to live without water. Suddenly we could drink to our heart’s deepest whim, and it no longer mattered. Our tissues were generating their own fluids.

Evolution kicked up her heels and began to sprint. Things started coming out of our mouths that we didn’t know had been in our bodies. Living bees, the seeds of desert plants, cysts the size of cantaloupes, palimpsests detailing each historic war. When the regurgitations finished, we became entirely self-sufficient, recyclable. Ours was a Kafka headstand. Instead of alienation, we achieved a single hive mind.

Rules kept sliding down the invisible supports of the world and forming puddles in the spaces betwixt rivers newly created by the interminable rains. Enveloped in the green-grey-blue cocoon of mist I could eventually hear an underhum of voices… indistinguishable words as unspoken thoughts as a current directly beneath the continent’s crust.

“We’re in another’s dream,” I told my lover. “Or else, we’re characters in a story. This is no reality.”

“No,” she said. “It’s our collective imagination. Our imagination was defunct, was then resurrected by the onslaught of rain, and is now utterly flooded and deranged. It was squashed under the too-ponderous weight of the earth’s dying, but toward the planet’s very end, we turned on the juice. Now our imagination creates reality. Humanity endures.”

I couldn’t tell truth from poppycock. Since it felt airy and nice, I decided to believe her, and took my belief into the fresh cold lake in our front yard, where I lay on my back, light as a buoy, eyes closed against the downpour, and listened to the subterranean buzz of my species: possibly the greatest survivors… possibly almost extinct.

~ by kingzoko on April 24, 2017.

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