The Basement Floor

I occasionally stare out my window
at the constant rain, wondering if it’s
really there. Sometimes I know it is,
due to my mother’s complaining about
how much the basement’s gonna flood.
I’d love for it to stop, but I’m not sure
if I need it to.

His chances at survival were
bleak. The resources he had at
his disposal were dwindling in
count. His exposure to light was
limited, and he became more
comfortable with the darkness.
The concrete floor was his only
friend, one who was selfless, and
didn’t need any of the so very valuable
water to survive. In his final moments,
he was grateful for that floor.