The End Is Near!

Posted: August 3, 2012 in Random Rumis

Okay…maybe not near (or nigh?), but it’s coming…and I don’t care, because I won the End of the World Flash Fiction Contest, so nyaaa, nyaaa, nyaaa!!!

Ahem.  When blogger extraordinaire, Emmie Mears, posted this 500-words-or-less contest, it was just too rich to ignore.  It’s the end of the world, and she wanted stories of folks on their last day, or in the their last minutes.  The rules?  Other than word length, it was only that you use the phrase “end of the world” somewhere, and that you not show the actual end of the world.  Challenge accepted.  Victory obtained.  Here’s my winning entry.  When you’re done, shamble on over and have a look at the other entries–and while you’re there, see what Emmie‘s up to–you will not be disappointed (not only is she committed to fending off zombie attacks, she even has a Zombie Apocalypse fitness program!).

And now…to the story that won me fame and glory (and a $25.00 Amazon gift card).

 

 

“IT’S THE END OF THE WORLD…AND I FEEL FINE”

 

Jake snapped out of a doze as Pastor Charles Voorhees slammed the Bible onto the pulpit. “God will NOT be mocked!” he raged, spraying vengeance into the first two rows.

Shit, Jake thought, why the hell are you yelling at us? I could be at Into the Blue 2, watching Jessica Alba in a bikini two sizes too small. Last day it’s playing but I’m here, so how about cutting me a little fucking slack, okay?

Voorhees stalked across the stage, head swinging left and right, daring anyone to contradict him. He paused. His features softened. Now he was kindly Grandpa Chuck. “It could be today, my brothers. Our Lord could split the eastern sky this moment. We know neither the day nor the hour. When that trumpet sounds, when the dead in Christ shall rise, when the end of this God-forsaken world comes…where will you be? Where do you WANT to be?” He removed a sodden handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed his brow, patted his lips. “I’ll tell you, my friends. I want to be right here. Amongst the redeemed of the Lord…”

Jake had to piss. Ignoring his father’s frown, he slid from the row. Behind him Chuck Voorhees picked up steam.

The foyer was less claustrophobic. He passed the ladies’ room as old Sister Lawrence exited, a two-foot-long streamer of toilet paper stuck to her shoe. Beyond her, as the door was swinging shut, Jake saw Missy Davies standing in front of the mirror adjusting her bra strap.

Fuck this. Chucky Cheese in there says the end of the world could be today. You know where I wanna spend it, Chuckles? Seeing if Jessica Alba will pop a nipple, that’s where.

Twenty minutes later, he and his buddy Randall had their tickets for the latest Pixar offering. Loaded with popcorn they walked down the hall, past the theater indicated on their stubs and into the next, two minutes before Jessica Alba slid out of the water, dripping liquid and high-beaming like there was no tomorrow. And so it went, with more T & A per second than any boy could want.

A dull thudding came through the walls.

Jessica entered the yacht’s small shower. “Holy shit, Randall, she’s gonna get naked in this one.”

Thud. Louder, followed by ripping sounds, distant screams.

“What the fuck?” Randall said.

Jake shushed him. “It’s the movie next door. Chill.”

“Dude, that’s the Pixar flick—there ain’t no explosions…shit, I hear screaming.”

The crowd had taken notice, some heading uneasily toward the exit.

Jessica turned toward the shower head, facing the camera, still in her bikini. She reached behind her for the ties, the movement causing her back to arch and her breasts to strain against the fabric.

Randall stood, his voice the flat. “We gotta get outta here.”

In the back of Jake’s mind: “We know neither the day nor the hour…when the end of this God-forsaken world comes…Where do you WANT to be?”

Jessica slipped the knot…and Jake smiled.

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