In this version, we lose our way sooner.
The storm gathers force in the sky but takes its time, teasing, slowly rumbling its way to us. Wind-blown, we keep walking, walking. The city seems so far away from this hilltop, glittering at us with a fresh menace.
We wanted to get away for a bit, breathe, find ourselves with each other again. We got away. And from this distance we saw our future, bearing down like a demon. A hundred thousand demons, our collective nightmare.
You stare out at the darkening city, at the silver bay waters. The clouds roil overhead. “Do you think the house is gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. No.”
We’re out of stories and laughter. We watch the sky together. The demon storm is here, and we’re far from home.
Drifting Island 