Friday 21 February 2014

WaterWorld

 
An old lady and an old man sit on an inflatable sofa.
He said it was like 1938 to 1939 all over again.
I know.
Teetering on the brink, dithering in the face of disaster. All all too late, nothing to do about it, we were all doomed. Doooomed! No one believed him.
Not now.
Earth heating up, waters rising, washing us away in the swell!
Leave it. Let’s rest a little.
I worked for him after they put him in a nursing home, tight as a tack he was.
Was he?
He was! I put his dentures in a tin and shaved his whiskers with my fingers to save on razors.
Of course you did, makes sense now you say it. Now, are you going to buy me a drink, I’ve come a long way.
I don’t know you, do I?
You do, we talk ever day. My drink? Please?
Another one said Noah’s ark was real, found the planks and everything.
Everything?
Don’t need Noah now, and a boat would be a waste of time. They’re building rockets to Mars. Branson’s in on it; he’s one of them.
One of who?
The chosen ones, been selling tickets on shuttles to his rich friends for years; we’ll be left to fend for ourselves.
He wouldn’t do that. He’s got a nice smile.
Dinosaur teeth, they all have: Cameron, Charles, Camilla, Cilla.
Cilla?
Black! Cilla Black! My scrotum is litmus. All that itching, it senses things, can tell a bad one from a good one, it knew the deluge was afoot.
Rained 400 days so it must have been very itchy.
And 400 nights, sandpaper on nylon sheets. I’ll get you that drink now.
Daft sod, I was teasing you. Where are you going to get me a drink from?
Their sofa wobbles in a swell, the gloop of dark water twisting and spreading under the moonlight.
Could use a cup to scoop it out.
We don’t have a cup. And we can’t drink; it’s contaminated.
We’re done for then?
Of course we are.
Can you swim?
Can you?
Used to be able to.
There you are then. Why don’t we hold hands, have a kiss maybe, share some of the old air raid spirit?
My scrotum is telling me this isn’t going to end well
You don’t need your scrotum to tell you that. Now shut up and give me a kiss.
But I don’t know you.
We’ve been married for sixty years you silly old fool, now hold my hands and give me a kiss.
Bert takes Mary’s hands in his, and kisses.
‘Oh, your lips are dry, love’, he says.
And a wave suddenly moves them from view as a large rocket passes over the moon.