Come hell or high water
ROBIN BLASBERG
“There goes the neighborhood,” grumbled Wesley.
“A gigantic yard sale,” said Mabel.
"They're moving boxes,” said Doc.
“They’re ruining the grass,” muttered Wesley.
“There won’t be anything left when this all washes over," retorted Doc. “Ocean’s rising, you know.”
"It has been mighty wet," agreed Mabel. “I’m sure my boy will be coming soon.”
“Our boy, you mean,” said Wesley.
“He’s a good boy,” added Mabel. “Always thinking of us.”
“There's my family.” said Doc. “Guess I’ll be going now. You both take care.”
“We will,” said Mabel.
“So long, Doc,” said Wesley.
When Doc had faded into the mist, Wesley turned to Mabel and noted somberly, "We're the only souls remaining.”
Hours passed as a silence shrouded the pair only to be broken every now and then when Mabel would wonder out loud, “Where’s our boy?" to which Wesley would seethe in response. Then a gurgling sound pierced the darkness and Mabel exclaimed, "Come hell or high water, he said he'd be here for us!'” A roar followed, stabbing the air, and Wesley snapped back, “Well, Mabel, the high water’s here and he ain’t,” as a torrent crashed through the cemetery gate and raced toward their headstones.