Today, I watched the world end. I watched the clouds melt down from the sky like burnt marshmallows falling off an old coat hanger. I watched the grass turn dry and brittle, and I let it prick my hands and legs like thousands of acupuncture needles. The sky, a magenta, reflected the battle wounds this world has so often inflicted upon its own men. God whipped us with the debri-filled wind, and let us know that we were in the wrong. Mom had always told me the end was coming, that her grandpa spoke of it as if it was coming every second of every day, as if it'd be so painful. Yet, I sit here, letting the elements express their anger with the same animosity that was inflicted unto them, and, for once, I feel at peace.
It's so contradictory that I feel most at peace when the world is in chaos. Am I the devil for being this way? I don't enjoy the pain of others, but I enjoy the pain I feel from all of the destruction. I push down harder in the brittle grass, hoping it will cut deeper, but to no avail the grass breaks off and blows into the whipping wind. I stand, hoping I present a bigger target for the debris flying through the air. Something skims my cheek, and I feel a thin line of blood drip down my. I want more. I run to the rushing waters by the bay and stare at the crumpled waves beating the sharp rocks as rain escapes the heavens. No, that would be too quick. I want to die with Mother Earth. I want to feel her agony. I don't want to die like a coward.
Looking towards the city, buildings puked puffs of putrid black smoke. Bodies fell from ten story windows, and I could distinctly hear the cracking sounds their bodies made against the pavement. Strolling down the street, a body flew past me and landed on my feet. Bloody and vacant, the face of the man who had landed on my feet looked twisted and deformed. Perhaps, it had been the wind as he was falling seeking its last vengeance. I slowly slid my feet from under the body, and he moaned. I nodded and moved on.
One would think the end would have just been characterized just by fire. No, I think God had a more cynical plan of making non-believers suffer. As hell rained down, so did Gods's tears, and they mixed to form a deadly toxin that entered the lungs of everything that breathed. Soon, all bodies would succumb to the black smoke. A man would either choke on his own air, burn in his own home, or drown in his own rivers. Such poetic justice has been gifted to this world to rid it of those who were bred to destroy it.
A baby lay on a pile of shattered glass on the edge of a street, surrounded by fire. Looking into the flames, the baby was untouched, pure, sound asleep. My cracked lips suffer as I smile. These are His disciples. The ones who suffer the end but do not suffer the pain. The ones who will stand by his side as he rebuilds this planet. Saying a prayer for the child's soul, I walk away and here the flames grow ferocious and engulf the child's body.
Glass flew and left cuts on my bare skin, yet they only stung for a second. I did not quite understand the salvation of some and the damning of others. Of course, I couldn't see someone's soul. I had always liked to think that I had a gift to tell a good man from a bad one, but the truth is the true character of a man wasnt defined by his outward relationships but with his inward and upward connection with God. This connection was something I could never decode, nor did I know whether or not I had it. Climbing down to the roaring bay, I sit on the tallest rock, and let the waves crush my feet with every pounding blow.
My body is numb, and I no longer find pleasure in the infliction of pain. The magenta skies grow darker, clouds disappear, the winds stop, the rain ceases, and the fires crackling in the distance soon burn out. Now, only one sound could be heard: sobbing. The world was sobbing. I could distinctly hear shouts of forgiveness. It grew more quiet as God dwindled down the final members of the world's population. These were the worst kinds of people. These people would taste salt on their tongues and soot in their lungs for as long as hell would exist.
So, what did that make me? I had remained on Earth til the end, experiencing nature's pain and mankinds demise. Was I so low that I was to watch everything til the end, like a horror movie, and then be ripped away and blown down into hell to spend the rest of my eternity? No, this couldn't be my fate. A light beam shone down from where heaven should be, and in that instant I saw the world, and the world saw me, and then darkness.