Rapture Disaster

He lay still in the shadow of the shut blinds in the dusky afternoon, eyes closed, waiting. Anytime now, he thought. The muffled sounds of horns blaring, engines humming, and the combined whispers of the masses moving from block to block slowing filtered through his windows to his quite sanctuary. He expected the sounds to stop any minute. Any minute.

God would take most of them. New York was full of sinners; unclean souls just begging to be cleansed. Few would remain. The thought of the cleansing of one of the dirtiest cities in America excited him, and he began clinching his eyelids tighter. Any minute now...

He began dreaming of the glorious moment that was almost here. He had prepared so thoroughly! The bills were paid, the apartment was only in his name for a few more hours, and he had given away all his worldly possessions. There was no need for an iPad in heaven. His apartment was spotless, his bed neatly made, and his body scrubbed and adorned in clean white linens- he was ready. Any minute now...

His family had failed to understand his logic but had not banished him from the family. They simply smiled and nodded with a look of pity when he attempted to convince them of the coming event. He wished they wouldn't make that face. They looked at him as if he was a child, silly, as if he had fallen for an obvious email scam to send thousands of dollars to Africa. They would be sorry. They would be the ones suffering for months during Satan's reign before the end of the world came in a few months. He would be the one to pity them, from heaven, where he would share in the light God gave. He tightened his fists and prepared himself. Any minute now...

The sounds of the city continued to pulse and throb into his ears. It seemed like such a normal Saturday afternoon.

Afternoon slowly blended into dusk. Night fell on the city.

Midnight.

One time a child had asked him, "If you believe in something long enough, and deeply enough, doesn't that make it true?"
He had responded with a resounding "Yes", and told him that belief was what made faith real.

He was still here.

He was hungry.

He feared to open his eyes. What would he do? This could not be. He would be a mockery. He indeed, would be just a silly man, with a silly dream, part of a silly religion.

Tears fell on his white pillow sheet, and at last, he opened his eyes on to the saddest scene of his life- a tiny apartment in New York City, alone, without possessions or money. A fool.