The Wicked Witches of the Right

Since Election Day

I feel as though I am the only survivor, the last man on Earth (in which case I hope there's a most beautiful last woman on Earth treading around somewhere). These last few weeks have been hell, literally.
    I've counted 39 days and nights since the great natural disaster began it's course. It was November 8th, I remember it clearly. Election Day, which itself was a bright, shiny day. The last I can remember.
    Late that night, at around midnight when the 9th of November befell, dark clouds swirled above as an evil mist spread throughout the land of my home in Westchester, New York. At that time it seemed no more than a typical weather pattern making its course. Yet it was strange, no one had heard this in the forecast. And then rain began to pour excessively. By the time I awoke, the streets were filling with rainwater. Though I wouldn't say this rain was causing an actual flood at the moment, I still thought the puddles seemed larger than usual. It continued for days, and my concern grew as it went on.
    I would talk to my neighbors - the Chub's, Grub's, Hollander's, Collander's, Spike's, and Trike's - and they'd remain apathetic about it. "It's just the tail of some tropical storm, it'll pass," was the general consensus. But it was too strange for me to buy that.
    It wasn't long before my concern turned to absolute fear. Just four days later, November 13th, the rain had reportedly spread across the entire nation. And that would be the last news report I would ever hear. Moments later, the transmission was cut by the storm and my television set went out for good. I was fine with that - if I heard one more political pundit crying about the results of the election, claiming fraudulence and rigging, I was going to disconnect my set anyway. I would be sad to miss another episode of Naked and Afraid.
    Outside I saw flooding continue inundating the land. It seemed as though the beginnings of a miniature lake were forming in my yard. God had promised us in the Torah that He would never do this to us again. So then if not God, who was responsible for this treachery?
    I decided to play the role of my namesake, Noah the great ark-builder, and began to build myself a little ship. Don't get the wrong idea, I don't have the chiseled features of Russel Crowe, but I'm not exactly Steve Carrell in a stark white bad wig and tacky beard - to get a picture of me, I'm somewhere in between. My skills in carpentry are excellent - I'd been a union carpenter for twenty years and had all the supplies I needed.  While working on that, I'd also be spending a great deal of time securing any potential leaks in the house.
    Divorced twice, with a fifteen year-old daughter I never see (Alyssa), a black chihuahua named Odysseus, and an otherwise empty house, gave me lots of space to work. My garage had only one car, but I decided that would no longer be useful. I left it out in the rain where it would eventually be consumed by the mouth of Poseidon.
How lucky for me I decided to keep this house.  I've toyed with the idea of selling it and finding an apartment.  It's lonely having this big place to myself, even with Odysseus around.
    Oh people loved to tease me with a black chihuahua - "a Jew and black go for a walk..." I said, "the black is mine, so he is a Jew." They'd say, "fine, a black Jew walks into a kennel..." Gosh, these people will find anything. I didn't bother to talk politics with them or ask how they voted. 
    My second wife and I were going to have a sizable family, but after I caught her cheating, the idea of a family never attracted me again.  My daughter Alyssa wanted to stick with her mother, felt she was justified to have an affair because I was "boring."  I feel bad for the boys who fall for her in that grade, they'll either be already damaged or on their way.  Don't get me wrong, I get a little lump in my throat when I walk into her empty bedroom, sometimes imagining what it would've been like if we'd all stuck together.  But the world was changing, no more time to think about those things - her fate was her own, little else I could do.  I was simply glad to have this house, or my fate would've been very different.
After days of work, I noticed it was getting torrential outside.  I no longer had cellular service and I could only work in the daytime because power went out completely.  How disappointed Mr. Edison would be with the flaws of his invention... well, patent at least.
The flooding at this point was horrible.  It had actually reached the level of my porch and would probably have seeped into my house if I'd not tightly sealed every single door and window with extra pressure-treated wood. Odysseus resorted to relieving himself on wee-wee pads. There was no place for me to take out the garbage, which stacked up and stunk the basement with his waste.
Thanksgiving finally came November 24th, but nobody was celebrating.  Odysseus had a canned turkey dinner with no gravy or stuffing. I barely spoke to my neighbors.  I couldn't tell what they were doing, but it didn't look promising.  Most were soused and calling it quits.  Half the people in the country probably didn't even realize there was a Thanksgiving.  Whatever news was making the rounds, I didn't know about it.  I just kept building each day until I made myself a boat large enough to store tons of food and remain enclosed at all times.  Noah's Ark 2016!  Much smaller of course. About ten feet long, five feet wide, and six feet high.
I feared what the world would look like out there.  But there was no time.  I had to move out as soon as possible, before I was trapped.