He sat at the end of a pier, his legs dangling over the edge, the sea gently lapping against the soles of his worn out combat boots. He thought about how he had come to be there, how it had all gone so horribly wrong. And still the water rose.

He looked up into the sky, or rather, into the haze of smoke and fumes that had hidden the sky for so many years. He wondered if somewhere it was still blue. And still the water rose.

He looked across the sea, or rather, across the multicolored sheen of oil and chemicals that had hidden the sea for so many centuries. He wondered if somewhere it was still clear. And still the water rose.

He looked at the army of uniformed men building walls of sand bags in their futile effort to stop the enroaching sea. He wondered if somewhere people lived in safety. And still the water rose.

One of the uniformed men looked out towards the pier where, moments before, someone had been sitting. Now there was no one.

And still the water rose.