Shelter

The road became a river. The rain didn’t fall, but hurled itself at the land as if it would drown it all, the village, the hill, the grave – mounds. The water rose up to my waist. Underneath it, roots tried to grab me and pull me down.

I saw an open door and I took it; A hollow tree, a shelter with enough room for most of me if I pressed my face tight against the rotting wood. 

I didn’t hear anything scuttle, or creep, over the storm.

 I didn’t hear it until it grabbed me and pulled me in.

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