The strange thing about flooding is the never ending feeling it will always be back. It may receed, but somehow there’s the promise of return. A reminder of something. I’m here.

I was playing with this image in a futuristic story that I wrote earlier this year called Four Upping. That water would, will continue to rise.

Must get back to it. Stories tend to receed similiarly after flooding the brain or getting beaten back. Yet they tend to call again at odd moments.

This is a story I would like to create on the new Bookriff software.