it was under the impalpable deep emerald water that her sanctuary grew. A kingdom of silence, a part of the world that belonged only to her, a tangle of secrets and vines. Water ran across her arms and pooled at her feet, it took up little nooks and crannies sprouting unusual blooms about the place, it wriggled into the cracks between rocks and grew mould at the foot of each stalagmite. Dried herbs had been strung about the place, dangling from the ceiling and stuffed inside the gaps between stones. They burnt their rural, hearty scents into the small space and gave an otherworldly pearlescent glimmer to the ever-growing darkness.

A strong smell of burnt smudge stick, grime and ancient waterfall pressed itself against the slime ridden walls of the cave. In a world deprived of water, the little alcove couldn’t get enough of it. Water sat in stagnant puddles on the floor, moss and plants made their homes in the spacey ceiling and small animals such as frogs and snails gathered under pebbles and cockle shells. The water had its effect on the girl that lived their too, her toe nails where green with infection, her feet swollen and sodden, the blonde hair on her head had formed into messy clumps entangled with seaweed and bog plants, the river that ran through her face was cold and broken, deprived of human touch and contact. Barnacles sat in the soft fleshy lumps of her fingernails and suckled against her shallow cheeks.

Although she had all the water supply she had ever needed, the raging waterfall and fear of extermination by the government had kept her right where she was. The stream had memory and was fond of her touch, she had grown so accustomed to the silence her only friend became the gushing pools of the river. Days and years passed and still the girl remained utterly alone, in her own small kingdom of water and grot, a secret haven that acted as a prison. On the loneliest nights she would curl up into a ball and gently stroke her head, imitating the action her mother used to perform before the world turned to carnage. She remembered the times when there had been so much hope for the future, for a brighter more equal world. But just like everything else, the concept dried up in the drought and never made an appearance again.

When the drought first started several decades ago, there were horrible stories of monsters with dried flaking skin and cracked lips, musty voices and broken hopes. People deprived of water stumbled the streets begging and pleading for mercy amongst the rich who could afford the luxury of hydration. Those who could not afford water simply would not have it. The girl had watched the world explode in front of her young eyes, she knew she should be grateful for her waterfall but the feelings just did not come. When her own mother had fallen under and failed to pay the water bills, it was her who had wriggled out of bed one night and paraded into the forrest in hope to find a little brook or secret clearing, it was there she stumbled across the waterfall and made a home for herself. In the morning she planned to return and bring her mother and two brothers to the kingdom behind the waterfall. But as sunrise drew nearer billowing clouds of black smoke circulated the sky. Her mother had been killed, her brothers left for dead, their small water supply had been stolen by rebels. The memory’s swirled around her head and stabbed her in the heart. She felt so guilty for what she had done to her family, if she had just showed them the waterfall sooner then….

The thoughts never let go of her little body, the world had broken her heart beyond repair, life had failed her, mankind had failed her.