The Wave. Virginia Moffatt

Some in response to my message. Some because they have run out of places to go. And despite what is to come, Dowetha has served up its best for us today. Strong winds, and bright sunshine, made for a perfect surf this afternoon, followed by an invigorating swim. The air has stilled since and now the water is calm. The sun is setting, sending us red beams across the water, a final reminder of the beauty of our days, before the onset of darkness. Pale blue lingers in the sky – soon it will be replaced by blackness of night as the stars rise to shine on us for the last time

      It is still hard to imagine it as we’ve sipped our beer or wine and nibbling salt and vinegar crisps, waiting for food to cook on the barbecue. Hard to face the fact of our deaths when we feel so alive in the warm glow of day’s end. Hard to realize this is the last time any of us will listen to the soft splash of the waves on the shore – the sound of the sea moving back and forth, back and forth. Today has been like any of the other summer days I have spent here, surfing, swimming, sunbathing. It’s been just another summer day except for the knowledge that a volcano 2,000 miles way is about to collapse. That our fates were decided by cracks that appeared in its surface long before most of us were even born.

      We have had our fair share of complaints sitting here, about the unfairness of it all. If the scientists had not made such a terrible mistake, if we hadn’t moved here to escape the smoggy dangerous city, if only we’d gone to visit friends as we’d planned … If, if, if … we’d be watching on TV like the rest of the horrified nation, instead of sitting here, with the cooling sand slipping between our toes, as the mournful gulls circle above us.

      We keep wondering whether we were wrong to stay. Perhaps some on the road will make it in time. But those who tried, report sitting in solid traffic as cheese sandwiches congealed and engines overheated. They carried on until the point at which it was clear they would not be moving any further; turned round and ended up here, lured by the open air, sea, the promise of company.

      I suppose we could still go home. Bolt the door, draw the curtains, and hide under the duvet. We could spend the time watching box sets of Star Trek or Friends, The Sopranos or House, Anything that helped us while away the time and pretend our world is not about to end.

      And the wave will come for us wherever we are, and whatever we are doing. So I am glad we are here to face it. Tomorrow morning, nine hours after the collapse of Cumbre Viejo, the sea will draw in its waters with the deepest of breaths. It will retreat far down the ocean bed, revealing the inhabitants of the sea bed – bass, cockles, mussels, crabs and snails – exposed for a moment to the air. And we will know, then, that the wave is coming for us. A thousand feet of water racing towards us, condemning us to death.

      It is still hard to imagine it, sitting here on this perfect summer night, the sun departed, the first stars beginning to light the darkening sky, that tomorrow this will all be gone. We will all be gone. So we try not to. Instead we will sit by the campfire, telling each other the stories of our lives. Hands held in the darkness. Offering comfort in the face of what is to come.

      The night will pass slowly. Watch with us if you can. When morning comes, we will be gone

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      Five other comments

      Jake Marsden Silly bitch. You should have left. You deserve to drown

      Alice Evans It’s very slow now. We’re hoping it will improve when we hit the dual carriageway. Singing silly songs to keep our spirits up . Glad you are not alone x

      10 mins

      Beverley Lewis Oh Poppy, you amaze as always. Will text you, perhaps we could chat?

      3 mins

      Finn Matthews. Lots of love, and ignore the trolls

      2 min

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