Waterfall

A father and son attempt some damage control

Drip.

"How long do you think the rain will last, Daddy?"

Drip.

"Long enough to finish the damage is started," I told my son as I watched the grow into a pregnant drop on the ceiling and splash into the bucket in the middle of the den. "Long enough."

Drip.

I sighed and went into the kitchen to finish my eggs. They were cold. Everything was cold. The air was cold because the furnace was out; two inches of water in the basement had tripped its circuit. The rain was cold. The water was cold—ditto the water heater. My food was cold, my coffee was cold.

I looked up and saw my son looking at me solemnly, silently asking what we should do now. Learn as many four-letter words as you can, son. Well, that wouldn't do.

"We'll be alright, kiddo. We'll just--"

!! CRASH !!

The noise came from the den. Dylan and I raced down the hall with me keeping him protectively behind me. What we saw almost made me cry. The bucket on the floor was full— full of the ceiling! The water had apparently soaked the drywall several feet on either side of the drip. There was a six-foot round hole in the ceiling with water pouring through. I grabbed the bucket and ran in a circle, trying to catch water everywhere all at once. Dylan giggled; I must have looked like a cartoon.

My eggs were more than cold; they were forgotten. Dylan and I grabbed every bucket, trash can, and bowl we could find, catching the ring of water and staring at it for an eternity.

"Well," I said. "You're mother always said she'd like a little water feature in here."

Dylan didn't answer, and we stared in helpless silence. Except for one sound.

Drip!

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the words drip, last, long

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