Marla stood in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, staring at the dripping faucet. “I am a master plumber,” she declared, slapping the sink with a rubber mallet. The faucet hissed and sprayed water across her face. She wiped it off, undeterred. “I am resilient.” A rogue stream hit her forehead, pooling in her brow. She nodded, lip trembling. “I am unstoppable.” The pipe groaned, then erupted in a geyser. Marla waded through the flood, arms raised like a prophet. “I am the rain! I am the storm!” Her neighbor, Mr. Pritchett, peered through the window, clutching a bag of frozen peas. “You okay in there?” he yelled. Marla grinned, water cascading down her nose. “I’m thriving!” The ceiling collapsed with a thunderous crack. She blinked up at the hole, then whispered, “I am…” Her voice trailed as the pipe finally stopped leaking. A single drop fell, plop. Marla stared. “…a survivor.”
