Luis applied the final strip of duct tape to the bottom edge of the window to seal it. The volcano outside, far off on the horizon, on the southwest coast of Iceland, had once again spewed forth a torrent of magma.
All the windows and doors were now sealed, keeping the sulfur fumes outside. Like this, he might survive a few more hours. He hoped the wind would change, but at the moment, it showed no sign of doing so. Toxic, yellow sulfur fumes wafted past his small house.
His phone rang.
“What is it?” Luis answered.
“I just wanted to check if you made it,” came the voice of his ex-girlfriend Mia.
“Are you safe?”
“Yeah, I am. Two volcanoes erupted here in Germany too, but I’m fine. What about you?”
“I need to finish my story.”
“You’re still on that damned island? On Eldey?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Didn’t they evacuate you?”
“I didn’t hear anything about that.”
“Have you been drinking?”
Luis nudged an empty beer can across the floor with his foot.
“Drank earlier. A few hours ago. I was completely wiped out, missed everything, got some sleep, and now…”
“Now it’s too late, isn’t it?”
“I… Maybe. Yeah.”
“Luis! What are you telling me – ”
Luis hung up.
He didn’t have time for this shit. Besides, it was his ex, and he could tell her concern was faked. Why would she care anyway? The situation was what it was. Neither Mia nor he could do anything to change it. The only thing that mattered now was finishing his story. Unlike his current predicament, he at least knew exactly how his story would end.
In his sealed-off twenty square meters, Luis estimated it would take at least two hours before the air quality noticeably deteriorated. He could only open the windows again once the yellow smoke had completely dissipated. If that didn’t happen in time, he’d eventually get tired and drift off to sleep.
He grabbed another beer from the fridge and sat down at his computer. Six thousand words or so, and the story would be done.
But as Luis glanced out the window, he was startled to see part of Iceland’s southwest coastline visible. Eldey – the island he was on – stood seventy meters above sea level, and since he had never been able to see the coast from his desk before, there was only one explanation: the island beneath him was sinking straight into the ocean!
“Fucking hell!” he muttered, took a long gulp of beer, and kept writing.