PETRICHOR E M Campbell
Down a vast broad river, I travel on a boat. A giant structure sits on the centre of this vessel; a tower packed with humans. I am on the top deck looking out with my daughter. We can see into the banks. Fallen trees. Concrete blocks cut into wasting, precarious soil. Skeletons structures of modern builds suffocate what might have been forests and meadows. Each turn of the river I hope to see some form of life, but instead broken hillsides and dead skies come twisting into view. All dead. But we are doing OK, I am told, cruising down the River of Life in our tower. Then I hear a crash. I look back. A landslide far behind. A vast clod of earth rolls down, forming a giant pellet before it hits the water. Tornado-like it hurtles at speed in our direction. In the tower, they say don't worry, we are in our boat and all is well. But the earth hits us with force. A conscious force. Our tower violently shakes. My daughter turns to me – what now?
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