Garage Sail
The water rushed in every year, as ice melted in the mountains. It rushed through the streets, relentlessly scrubbing the dirt. It rushed, submerging the village under the mirky vail of redemption. I wade through the room with a giant wrench in my hand, unbolting the garage wall from the house. Loose papers and wooden bowls crushed against my hips when the last bolt gave way. I swam through the opening, letting the stream of water race into the otherwise dry room and latched the trapdoor behind me.
The rainbow wall of food cans collapsed onto the mire floor and splashed, floundering helplessly. I reached for the dangling rope and pulled the stairs that led to the roof. The weather meticulously erased the village from the surface of the earth. I knew I had but a few moments before other houses crushed my garage and submerged it with the rest. I pulled another line and unfolded a sail above my head. It quickly filled with the breath of the spring winds and pulled me south, away from the drowning village. The garage sail sang a melody, dragging me away. It pulled me into the forlorn summer of wander.
This short situation is based on Centina Pentina Weekly Prompt: Auto Incorrect.
