Like Floodwater My Mind
Kayla Cain
On the fifth day of rain, the creek began her new life as floodwater, creeping toward the neighborhood. She loved exploring new terrain – her pseudopodia reaching into the grass and combining to climb trees.
The creek went on this adventure once or twice every hundred years, and it was always different depending on how the landscape had changed. This time, she found a new cliff, and rejoiced in the freedom of a fall. Brief drops, rain again, until splashing.
About a quarter mile past her new waterfall, the floodwater heard a little boy playing.
“Vrrroooooomm! Eerrrrrggg– ssshhwwooooosh,” he said, pushing and spinning his little yellow truck around the porch. He wore black slacks and a white collared shirt.
Inching closer, the floodwater saw a woman watching the boy through the window while washing dishes.
The woman called, “Tim! Don’t get dirty! We’re leaving for church soon!” and walked away.
Tim rumbled his toy truck.
“Nothing can stop this truck!” he growled. “It’s the toughest truck in the world! Let’s jump some rocks and land in some mud!”
He turned his head back toward the kitchen window. He smiled. Then he drove through the streamers of rain and into the meadow.
Her waterfall grew heavier as her width expanded. Her force became stronger, and her current did too.
The expanding floodwater saturated dirt into sloppy mud. Grass blades drank as fast as they could before their own lifeblood washed them away.
The floodwater giggled when Tim reached her bank and tickled her with the toy truck. She tickled him back with small splashes like kisses.
“Wow,” he said, eyes wide, when he found her waterfall. “So cool!”
Flattered, she embraced him.
Then the floodwater saw the woman walk to the backdoor, tilting her head to put in an earring.
“Ok, it’s time to – Tim?”
The woman lifted her head, then jerked it back and forth, swinging her curled hair.
“Tim?!”
Running onto the porch, she spun in a circle, ran left, ran right, then cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Tim!! I told you we were about to leave for church!”
She moved her hands above her eyes like binoculars and then found the floodwater.
“Nooo!”
She dropped the earring and bolted toward the water.
The floodwater wasn’t even knee-deep to the woman, but that meant it was waist-deep to Tim. Hair stuck to her face as she flung her head back and forth in the frantic search, squinting into the gray day, finally finding a sign: a little yellow truck in the mud.
“Tiiiimmmmm!” she screamed.
Fear and anger exploded from the woman, vibrating up through the waterfall.
“Where did you take him?!” she yelled at the water.
The stagnant tower continued to pour.
The woman cried, soaked now, and kicked up a splash that fell right back into the current.
The floodwater wished to calm the woman – to stop the negative energy flowing into her – but she didn't know how.
Then, from beside the woman, a little voice said, “Mommy! I found a waterfall! And there’s even a secret space behind it!”
The woman fell in front of Tim and threw her arms around the wet and dirty little boy. She kissed him and carried him home.
Through the porch's sliding glass doors, the floodwater watched Tim sit in front of a fireplace. The woman poured steaming water into mugs, and they cuddled as the warm drinks soothed them. They never left for church.
That evening, the floodwater died. She flew into the sky and seeped into the dirt. Having felt emotions that confused and exhausted her, she persevered through her unstoppable cycle.
Kayla Cain
Kayla Cain teaches high school English and journalism in Central Texas. She has had flash fiction published in Literally Stories, Blood+Honey, Little Old Lady Comedy, and made the long list and been a finalist in contests for Flash Fiction Magazine and Four Tulips. Her passion is inspiring young people to read and write through example.