Short stories

The water forts

This story was one I wrote in class based off of this picture last year during a creative writing exercise.
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Somewhere in the ocean, near where the coast of the UK once was, he tied his boat to the remainder of the Maunsell Forts from World War II.

He'd always been afraid of dying as a nobody. He guessed it was destined to happen anyway, even with the blood he'd spilled to make a name for himself.

The rusted metal creaked and popped as he walked across it, occasionally flaking and crumbling beneath his worn leather boots.

He gently leaned against the highest, most sturdy railing he could find and watched the salty water draw back from the old crumbling struts holding his fort up.

Once the ocean level had been far lower. But after the polar caps melted the oceans kept rising. The coasts disappeared and billions of people were displaced.

He guessed that none of that mattered anymore anyways as he watched the meteors flying into his planet in the distance.

He'd been left behind as humanity had fled. The rich had left first, heading for the planets in another solar system. The poor had been the next to leave, the rich deciding they better stay charitable.

The criminals were left behind. Perhaps it was karma for the lives he had taken, he couldn't tell.

The ripples of the shockwaves grew closer and closer with each passing second. At this point the ocean floor was visible as the water sucked out at an even faster pace.

The shockwaves almost sent the last of the forts to the bottom of the ocean. His eardrums were shattered as they passed, blood trickling down the sides of his neck.

There was no escaping this. He never anticipated his last adventure to be like this. He pictured going down in history.

The horizon begun growing higher. Higher. Higher. The clouds had been blown away in the shockwave and now the sky was a piercing blue unclouded by the usual smog.

He stared up at that blue sky, imagining life on other planets as that giant wave finally enveloped him.