Same as it never was (Wordhole)

This is a short story written in the 2023-11-15 Methods class in response to the exercise about thinking about the apocalypse.

It is currently unfinished!

It is not every day that I can be carefree. Today, today is not such a day either. 

'Could you fetch some water?', Robin's mom asked. Since the graduation ceremony, I feel like many people have been asking me to fetch some water. 

'Come on', she continued, 'the phoneline's down, otherwise I would've asked the Keeper.' If I'm honest with you -- and I can be honest with you, right? -- I seldomly feel like fetching water. It's a long way to the shore, and there's all this sand I won't be able to clean off for days.

'The water will eat me.' 

'The water won't eat you.'

A lot of us have been scared -- not me. At the ceremony, I saw some people cry, that's how scared they were. Tears all over their faces. That's way scarier to me, the flood from within. I've learned to keep it in.

'Fine then.'

We keep some buckets in the shed. A central place where we all meet. Well, not 'all' of us, I suppose. All of us who are able to, those on the island. 'Meeting' is also an exaggeration, maybe. I go to school there. And people discuss the wheater. Sometimes I overhear. Once, when the schoolbell had just rang and the class was leaving for home, I heard them say 'A storm's coming up'. It was a joke.

The schoolbell doesn't ring all days -- those days are my happy days. I get to stay home with mom and dad, and we boardgames in the basement. It's cozy, we use candles on days the schoolbell doesn't ring.

On my way to the shore, I tried to find footprints in the sand. No luck. This is why I hate sand: it's always sticking to you, but nothing ever sticks to it. It's just not fair. If only I could have followed the footsteps from last week, when we were all here. All 6 of us, my class, followed by everyone on the island. Slowly walking towards the Lighthouse. After the ritual, we are finally allowed to go to the water's edge.

'Perfect timing!', I heard someone say right when I passed the Lighthouse. It was the Keeper. 'It's stuck and I can't reach it.'

The Keeper is a funny fellow, always making jokes. 

'What is?', I asked.

'There's something preventing the watermill from turning. Look.' The Keeper pointed towards the mill.

'Serves him right. We don't need it anyway.' I have never been fond of it, fond of the dependency on it.

'Well I'd very much like it to work. It generated the --'

'The electricity for our whole island, I know, I know.'

'I like to call my spouse from time to time. This is not the only island, you know.' He winked. To this day, I don't know why he winked.