The city

 Water dripped from everything. Constant rain meant Deluge was always flooded, a modern Venice, even after the original Venice had been swallowed by the ocean. Historians had even referred to the event as a new Atlantis, a crisis that drowned an entire city.

Here, though, it was different. Deluge celebrated the rain, using boats to navigate the flooded streets. Filters kept litter and garbage out of the water, so it was safe enough for children to swim in. On the few sunny days, people gathered on the roof of their house, waiting for the moment the clouds parted. They loved the sun, but they loved the rain too.

Like the seasons, the weather each day brought was celebrated. Umbrellas were a fashion statement. No one would be caught dead without one, and children and adults would often carry individual pieces of artwork, all decorated with beautiful, whimsical designs.

You could tell how much a person made by the style of their umbrella. The rich carried covers made of gold fabric, spun by master artisans. The poor used cheap cloth, waterproofing them with candle wax and melted plastics. Decorating them with love and care.

But class wasn’t important. Often, a rich man would share an umbrella with a member of the poor, listening to stories of struggle and hardship, stories that helped him understand what he’d never experienced. In return, the poor man would be fed and clothed, his ragged umbrella carefully washed and repaired, sometimes replaced with one that was higher quality.

This was a city where the rich listened to the poor, listened to the cries that came from below them. A city where the helpless were protected. A city that was a fountain of not equality, but something better. A city of brotherhood.