On the fifth day, someone took their own life.
Then more and more followed, one after another. Having lost the strength to make a final stand, they could only cling to this last shred of dignity to offer their souls some meager comfort. At least it was better than nothing.
The rain seemed as though it would never stop. Fortunately, it had weakened considerably by noon, dwindling to a fine drizzle. Even the wind was barely audible, but dark clouds still blanketed the sky, allowing not the slightest glimmer of light through.
The fish and shrimp on the pool's surface had long since rotted. The glints reflected from their scales and shells had vanished, leaving only patches of gray-black decay that bobbed or spread before the rising water swallowed them completely.
Crescent Moon Rock had disappeared beneath the water. The wooden huts above it were almost submerged, with only a few still showing a corner of their roofs. Those clinging to life struggled to hold on to this last refuge.
Throughout the afternoon, O'Connor and Huiduo heard few cries of anguish. Only the ever-dwindling sounds of coughing drifted softly to their ears, making their aged faces look even more dull and lifeless.
They simply sat quietly on the roof. Although the reddish floodwater had crept up over their knees, it could not stop them from gazing into the distance.
"I wish I could see the sun one more time," Huiduo sighed.
Only after a while did O'Connor manage to answer in his dry, brittle voice. "Now I understand why the Tribe reveres the sun so much."
"It gives people warmth and light. Most importantly, seeing it feels like seeing hope, even when you're in darkness. Strange, isn't it?"
Perhaps Huiduo could not find an answer right away. After a stretch