Author: Alexander Condie

A long time ago, when the vertical world was full of water and wonder, I lived in a city. A city perched above an endless void, made of white ore, and sustained by a God that lived above us. Though we do not remember exactly how we got there, and who began the city, all who lived there remember with complete clarity the words God spoke to us. Only twice did God speak our tongue, the first time gifting us the name of our home: Drain.

It was here, when the world was young and the people ever-moving, that I came to be. I remember the rains that brought our life, the community we fostered and the structures that we built. I remember watching as new life came to us, seemingly out of nothing, as I believe I had once done. They joined the city, and helped it grow into a place of greatness.

The Great City of Drain, as we would begin calling it, earned every accolade and praise that could be given. It was a marvel in its existence. Despite living above an edge to dark unknown below, the city prospered. With all that sustained our lives coming from above, the people of Drain focused only on what they could create with the life they had. The empty white walls that surrounded the city and made up the houses became canvases. Etchings of our past, present and what genius minds envisioned for the future were made on every flat surface. The city was no longer a place made of buildings, but of art. The paths we walked, the ceilings above our heads, even the beds we slept on were testaments to the creativity our God allowed us to foster. Drain was a city of dreamers and visionaries unlike anywhere else, whether in the vertical world or beyond.

The city was perfection, and the people grew fat and weak from the bounty that rained from above. In time, the canvases were full, and the itch to create had been scratched. Never a day went by without the water of life from above. We wanted for nothing and wondered if this bliss could truly last forever.

Looking back now, we were foolish to think paradise could ever be eternal.

I am fortunate to be one of the few to escape, and I believe God allowed it so that I could tell this story. To keep the legacy of the Great City of Drain alive, and to warn of the power God can have on those who become lazy and stagnant. More than this though, I must speak aloud the words of God, so that they may never be forgotten.

Which brings us to the end. In the moments before the fall of Drain and the destruction of the vertical world, God spoke to us again. The second and ultimately last time, God spoke our tongue, and said:

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll clear out the drain before I shower. You’re right, it’s definitely clogged with something.”