The Flood, As Interpreted by Six Anthills and One Small Boy

It came to pass in those days that the Lord, whose name was Daniel, looked down on what He had made, at the small crawling things, and was wroth with their behaviour, with their pointless routines and their towering cities and their cruelty and infidelity. “I have established a place for you in the sun,” said the Lord, “given sweet things to you for your refreshment, made the waters to flow and the sun to shine and you know Me not.” Then did the Lord sorrow in His heart of hearts, and decided Him to destroy His creation, and begin afresh. By mighty earthquakes and boiling waters would He work their end, by flashing light and sudden flames.

Long was the preparation, but the end was swift. Water burst from a cloudless, shadowed sky in torrents upon the mighty works of earth, water hotter than blood, until the mightiest of cities slumped into shapelessness and blind infants and their loyal nursemaids floated upon the streets. A mighty cry went up to the Lord whose name was Daniel, but too late, too late. The Lord shook the earth until no stone stood upon another, delved deep beneath the sunlit waters of the mighty cities to pull the foodstuffs and the cowering lords to their desolation. He sowed salt upon the waters, upon the fields, so that nothing might grow thereon. When life was no more upon or beneath the earth, when ashes and floodwaters and the dead were all that remained, then did the Lord look upon His work and sorrow anew. Now were there none to know Him, none to bear witness to His name, none to raise sweet singing in the morning. “Never again,” said the Lord whose name was Daniel. “Never again will I bring death to my creation.”