It was an average day in an average town. As the sun lazily arose from over the distant hills, small bells on wind chimes rung softly while the door to an equally average store was being unlocked.
I felt the walls shake. I was trying to breathe when the continent was sinking. I could hear my mom screaming, “Sapphire, run as fast as you can, so the water cannot gobble you up!”
It all started when my friend, a poet called Laurence Fenton, was challenged by a bloke in a bar. He was apparently a poet, too, but he didn’t look it.