The rain fell hard that day. I think it was a Tuesday. It was like poison dropping from upon high into the huge basin-like teacup below. Maybe God was bored and wanted to play a game, or maybe God had nothing to do with it. Whichever way you look at it the rain fell like a bitch that day. Pyllyp’s watering can filled up in 30 seconds flat.
After about an hour the whole village of chkhV was on the move, probably towards some vast and perilous ocean. Widow Rust became trapped beneath a car on the seabed. What she was doing down there I don’t know. I would have thought an old woman weighing no more than a hairnet would have been floating on the surface from the get-go. Anyway, she was down there and there was no hope for her. She managed to hold her breath for about seven seconds before shattering (if that’s the right word) into a million tiny scraps of dead skin. These fragments of dust covered the shimmering seabed like an old grey blanket, suffocating many of the aquatic inhabitants that had appeared from God-knows-where during the downpour (some say they fell from the sky with the rain but I’m trying to write a true account of that day and this theory sounds like horseshit so don’t think I’ll even print it).
Where was I? So the widow is long gone. Next to go was the local fool Millk who, wishing to get to higher ground, wrapped himself around the closest pylon and scaled like his life depended on it. When he reached the top he fried like a sofa, his crispy body falling perilously (I don’t know why I use the word ‘perilously’ as he’s obviously already dead) towards the water below. Meanwhile Pyllyp sat on a __________ (word lost in translation) and floated towards a likely death (or maybe he wouldn’t die this time).
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Tune in next week for the second instalment of ‘The Beginning of a Love Story’ (although it will probably be called ‘The Middle of a Love Story’ as this was the beginning and we don’t want to drag this thing out longer than we have to.)
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