the flood (2024)
visual autofictions vol. 3
The beginning of the flood had been forecast for that day. Still, when the river finally overflowed, it happened quickly. We carried the chickens, one by one, from the garden into the house and up the stairs. The river reached the street, and soon, the house.
I watched the water seep through the gaps by the front door and creep up the steps from the cellar. Later, we were picked up by firemen in a boat through our window. They told me they felt like gondoliers in Venice and called it a once-in-a-century flood. I couldn’t stop thinking about the chickens in a rabbit cage in my bedroom.
My dreams became damp and heavy. I dreamed of walls, thick with wetness, closing in on me; stifling rooms with air so humid that breathing felt like slowly drowning. I often woke up drenched in cold sweat, sometimes drooling, sometimes crying — moisture leaving my body and filling up the room.
In the back of my mind, traces of dampness remained even much later — a lasting humidness resembling nostalgia. In fact, on certain days, I still find my thoughts to be strangely wet and slippery.
The view of my neighborhood in 2013 that I will never forget.
If you want to help the people whose homes it hit this year: https://helfen.orf.at/spenden/index.html
Thank you for reading. If you enjoy my work and would like to support me, you could buy me a coffee here :)