"Every night she waits, she's food for death." -Kristin Naca, from Bird Eating Bird

Emperor

I started building my boat for the fast approaching flood out of back issues of newspapers and twigs. Jason tells me that my boat will never work, that it’s too frail, but he’s making his own boat out of stones, so what does he know. Melissa looked up how to make a boat on the internet, and it looks pretty nice, but it’s miniature. I’m not sure when she will realize that she couldn’t possibly fit in it. We all get together for dinner every night, and give each other updates on how our boats are going. I found a nice, big piece of sandstone. It will make a fine addition for the hull Jason says. I’m almost finished with my boat, but all the little strings that attach to the sails are so little and complicated, I’m afraid my big fingers are too clumsy to place them correctly Melissa says. I sprinkled dust on my boat for insulation, and it made me sneeze I say. We all nod at each other approvingly, but we all secretly think about how little the others know about boat making. This has been going on for years. We’re not sure when that fast approaching flood was supposed to hit. When one of us asks another when they think the flood will come, we always say tomorrow, and we always truly believe that, and we always truly would like to drown in it, if it means we can stay with our boats.