So…where to next?
The sweet-bitter scroll sits poorly in my belly, but I keep it down and watch as seals are broken, the bowls are poured out, and trumpets blare. Flaming mountains crash into seas, point-three repeating of the world is no more.
But it’s a fine show and as my gut begins to ache, I sit down on the side of a hill to watch it. The apocalypse came, but the rapture came up short, and here I sit now, alone and depressed. Maybe John misinterpreted our Lord’s message, what with the sword sticking out of his mouth and all that. You’d think ol’ Lamb would have a tendency to mumble. And John was an old man by then, so his ears couldn’t have been what they once were. For all of the fireworks, the whole end of the world thing is really coming up short.
I mean, I never saw two witnesses, or saw them die, or rise again. I think I would have noticed them. Come to think of it, I never saw any prophets or beasts, whether they be from the sea or with multiple horns, or chasing down pregnant women clothed in suns. My knees bowed to no one and my tongue confessed nothing. If this was how armageddon was supposed to go down, someone really dropped the ball.
I stand up and vomit out the scroll, but it’s sweet again on the way up, so I don’t mind. I bet I could re-read it if I wanted, but it’s obviously no good. The fireworks are already over, I guess God has no more wrath left in him. Is that it? What a pansy. “In the hands of an angry God” my ass.
Well, there’s always the lake of fire and while the climate will leave much to be desired, I certainly can’t complain about the company. Better than watching the world end by myself again, anyway.