The Water Cycle – freewriting

We start: dipping down and out of ravines in the tallest cliff faces, then sitting bored and stagnant in a lake for years and years of watery hell for that active little drop who’s just dying to rush down the Thames and burst out of our taps, mingle with Fairy and help clear up our dinners, get slopped on the floor and be attacked by the angry fuzz of a mop wielded by an offended mother crying about how the varnish will come off if that poor little drop just spends one more second on that expensive-but-don’t-worry-we-got-it-in-the-sale-darling wooden floor, so our trusty little friend is whipped up and spends another month in a new stagnant watery hell at the bottom of the mop bucket until it’s finally washed out because the smell was starting to eek out under the cellar door and it was putting everyone off their breakfast and Mummy couldn’t handle it anymore so she emptied it down the sink and the water makes it way back down the pipes it came out of but they’re a bit dirtier these ones this time and they go through a lot of big clanging machines that add stuff and take other stuff away and push it through tiny metal grilles before finally gushing to the reservoir – you’ve had a makeover, Mr. Water, you’ve been plucked and pinched and preened and stuffed full of green super smoothie and are now ready to sit and wait in this reservoir until you either get sucked back through those pipes you came out of, but the clean ones this time, and back into a fiery encounter with a new mop, or maybe if you’re lucky you’ll just slowly get a bit too hot and think screw it I’m out of here and float up, up, and up to the sweet pillows of cloud until the party up there gets too big and dark and you’re chucked out again – party’s over boys – back to that ravine where we can start all of it all over again…

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