The change had been gradual. Heat building, day by day, month by month. The scorched earth cracked, swallowing London one, two, three buildings at a time. The occupants of the office blocks, wine bars, theatres, museums, and mews dwellings fled long ago. So long ago that these days you could drive the 188 kilometres of the M25 in two hours – assuming you had fuel of some sort.
Some perverse mood made him stay, camped in his office. After all, he’d spent more time here over the years than in his empty home. For a while, the electrics and the plumbing worked.
While they did, he filled every container he could find with water, stacking them in the spaces between and under the desks with their useless trailing leads. He ate frugally, eating first the fruit and sandwiches he found, then eking out the collection of energy bars and biscuits. At night, he slept under the glare of 24 hour lighting – for a time. Now he slept in a darkness lit by a ballooning moon’s luminescence. A moon to pull at the tides, to encourage the seas held back so long by man but no longer to be denied.
Now he stands at the window, waiting. Only the bridge is left, but the ocean has been freed. The first surge of the sea flings itself against the stone, crashes in spumes of salty water. On it comes, hiding the cracked earth, rising up the windowed towers – rising up the building where he waits. He thinks of the legend of Atlantis, wonders if it was like this for those who were there.
He waits.
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Love your end of the world scenario. I am afraid I could not resist my own version (LOL)
PICTURE – LONDON’S TOWER BRIDGE OVER CRACKED EARTH
Was this the end of the world? For the first time in living memory the River Thames was dry, its earthen bed a series of giant cracks from being exposed to an unfamiliar atmosphere.
Misty clouds swirled around London’s famous Tower Bridge and threatened from a black sky.
As head of the Prime Minister’s Department, Lawrence could only speculate as he looked out his office window. The summer had been inordinately dry but that would not normally lead to this present phenomenon and the unusual cloud activity was puzzling.
With no water for passage, ship and boat trade along the river had completely ceased – leading to the stalling of many businesses as they struggled to obtain their normal supply of goods to sell.
The British Government was nonplussed. Urgent cabinet meetings to discuss the situation had not helped one iota and, without London’s normal hectic business schedule, the populace was beginning to panic.
Doomsday prophets were having a field day. Standing on street corners loudly proclaiming “the end is nigh”, did nothing to calm the jittery nerves of those stopping to listen.
Lawrence scratched his head in bewilderment. No one had come up with any solutions despite the widespread consultation with hydrographers, geologists, meteorologists and other related experts.
Without water flowing in its giant estuary, London would eventually ceased to exist – Lawrence was sure of that – and all its historic buildings would simply crumble into dust.
A depressing thought, as he rubbed his chin ruefully.
As Lawrence continued to watch, the clouds slowly parted and a dark figure in a winged chariot drawn by midnight black horses appeared over the city.
Startled, he looked more closely. Satan, perhaps, come to wreak his vengeance on a wicked world. That would explain the sudden drying up of the Thames.
It certainly wasn’t God. No, he would have a long white beard and come in a halo of blinding white light.
No, this figure was more sinister. Definitely Lucifer.
Lawrence scratched his chin again. Wonder what happens now? The flicker of a smile crossed his countenance.
It could only be end of the world, or at least the end of London. Of course, the drowning of London is an all too realistic scenario if the barriers collapsed and climate change continues as it does.