'A Lesson in Drowning' by Kirsty Hammond

When the latest flood claims our home, my little brother finally develops gills. We can leave now. Everyone else in the street has gone. Those who adapted, anyway.

Our house, at the top of the hill, is the last to submerge. Mum used to take such good care of the place, but the wallpaper has been peeling for weeks and something is growing out of the sofa.

We don’t bother closing the door behind us.

Our daffodils are drowning in the garden.

The door to number twelve is closed. The Bryants left last week, dragging little Katie through the water, screaming. Posey, her dog, was still inside.

Some animals haven’t evolved.

Mrs Hunter’s door is closed, too. We never saw her go. Too old, probably. Underwater living isn’t for everyone.

As we swim, my brother is still adjusting. I know how he feels. The water is cold, your skin is crinkly, everything is just so wet. And your eyes. You only see shadows. But it passes and you realised you’re free of gravity. It’s like flying.

We’re heading for deeper waters. Mum says we’ll catch up with the neighbours and find a new home. Being too close to the surface makes us itchy. Funny, isn’t it?

We failed to change the world, so the world changed us.

We swim on.