Suddenly, I am ripped out of my foundation and find myself floating downstream; hopefully, the people once living in me are out, hopefully safe on the dry land, my land, my land that I once stood proudly on, majestic, towering above anything and everything, is not there, washed away by the amazing wrath, never to return again, never to be rebuilt again, no matter how daring a soul may be, no matter how ambitious or set on living there, he won't stand against the awesome power. I didn't, and I was three million dollars up.

I look back on the shore, once a street, an entire neighborhood of us giants, I the last one, gone. Possessions, not only room sized televisions, not only priceless diamond rings, not only chains made out of gold, but pictures, pictures of children long grown, sentimental things from people not on this fine but unforgiving earth anymore, never to be taken again, all washed away by the uncaring, almighty force not to be reckoned with. I feel their appliances plugged into my walls, their thousands of cords and plugs but the electricity does not flow through my walls; I keep my conscience, unable to move, unable to support life; worthless!

I glance over at the submerged levee. If only you could have held, God bless your soul. I know you tried your best; couldn't help the inevitable fate we all knew would come, yet silently hoped for a different outcome against all possible odds. Sandbags float in the water around me, a useless effort to withhold the beast. The people continue to watch me, continue to peer at their home, their home that they worked thousands and thousands of hours, years and years to create, all washed away in a matter of seconds by the awesome power of nature.

The river pulls me further and further away from where I have stood my whole life until the spot disappears behind the trees, and the sound deafens my ears. I wince in fear at the sight of it billowing. My windows and doors are no more, soaked with water, and only the top few shingles remain, a tube of life allowing in the bittersweet oxygen; I would fight it if I could, but alas, I am too big! The bridges, water level, loom, a disturbing presence that I will certainly meet.

My body collides with the concrete side of the bridge; wood splinters and falls and tumbles in every direction; water explodes in Mr and Mrs Calum's grand bedroom, mixed in with the blood, carnage, wreckage. Someone screaming overhead, possibly little Sheryl Calum; her dolls, lifeless, pulled to the bottom of the river, along with me, a cold piece of wood, never to be found again.