The Tempest

It's a horrible dream. Nightmares are all the more terrifying because they are custom-built. It's Saturday night and the downpour has started while I'm asleep. The rain is deafening. I wake face down to find water is dripping onto the back of my neck. As I roll over I see the ceiling bulge with the weight and watch horrified as it cracks under the strain. The room is engulfed. I surface once before the walls give out and then am swept away. I see the same thing happen to my parents, watch bricks pop one by one from the walls of their highset house. I wake for real, trembling in the blast of the fan I left on when, years ago, I was hot and drowsy, and inspect the ceiling for cracks. In the morning we find the dining room floor is awash but the cat is somewhere safe - there are muddy pawprints all over the washing machine under the window.