The End - Visions of Apocalypse

The motorcade came to a halt near the edge of the Rift, their kicked-up dust blowing over the crowd as they rushed forward to see the new arrivals. From the limousine, four large men in dark suits and sunglasses emerged. Their heads moved constantly, taking in everything and everyone, and only when each had given the other a quick, satisfied nod did they motion for a fifth man to climb out of the vehicle. He quickly buttoned his coat and strode with practiced authority, the other four men falling in formation around him. He’d seen the younger side of 50, and not many restful nights, judging by the creases around his eyes. He stopped and stood expectantly in front of the van.

The van’s side door slowly slid open, and three robed men stepped carefully down to the ground. They turned and offered assistance to a much older man, bent with age, who still managed to kneel and kiss the ground upon exiting, the dew-soaked grass staining his bright white robes at the knees. He shook the first man’s hand while placing his other hand warmly on his shoulder, then gestured towards the coupe.

From that car, a rumpled middle-aged man emerged with little fanfare. His hair had the tousled look of having recently been slept on, and his clothes were a mishmash of denim and tweed. He pulled a pair of glasses from a pocket, wiped some dust from them with the edge of his untucked shirt, and put them on, blinking into the morning sun. He stepped forward and shook hands with the other two men. Then they turned and walked towards the Rift.

“Well, good morning!” Mother Earth said cheerfully as they approached. Her voice was heard in Swahili and English and dozens of other languages. All heard her words in their native tongues. “And who might you be then?”

The man in the suit spoke first. “Michael Madison, President of the United States,” he said in a gruff voice filled with Mid-Western winters.

“Oh, how very nice for you!”

“His Holiness Pope Leo XIV,” said one of the robed men with a nod to the man in white, “Most Holy Father of the Roman Catholic Church.”

“What a lovely gown!”

“Dr. Livingston Chapman,” the last man said, in a crisp British accent the belied his ramshackle attire. “Professor of Geology at Cambridge.”

“My, but your mum must be so proud!”

“We’ve been selected to speak for the people of the world,” President Madison said.

“Well, just the pale people, from the looks of it.”

“No,” President Madison said, “I was elected to represent a diverse variety of colors and creeds.”

“Pity you couldn’t bring some of them with you though, isn’t it?”

The President blinked, the frantic coaching of a dozen speech writers and philosophers on the flight to Kenya running through his head. “Well, you see, in the great experiment that is American democracy…”

“No, no, no,” Mother Earth said, “I don’t want to talk to someone who’s still experimenting. That means you haven’t gotten it right yet, doesn’t it?”

“Our system of government has worked for over two hundred and twenty five years,” Madison said defensively.

“Dearie, I’ve had blinks that lasted longer than that.”

“But you must understand…”

The ground abruptly rose beneath the President’s feet, sending him staggering and his security detail rushing to his side to catch him before he fell. “Look here,” Mother Earth said, “when you’ve had an asteroid slam into you, then maybe you can come around and tell me what I must and mustn’t do.” The ground settled, leaving Madison dangling in the arms of his agents. “Oh, I can tell this just isn’t going to work at all, I’m afraid. I do appreciate you coming, though. By all means keep working on that experiment of yours.”

President Madison gaped as his agents set him down. “You… you want me to leave?”

“Oh, you can stay and watch if you like.”

Madison shrugged off the agents. “I’m the leader of the free world!”

“I am the free world. And I don’t remember voting for you, sorry.”

Several dozen speech writers and philosophers would have been unable to articulate the thoughts running through the President’s head at that moment in any socially acceptable way, and he certainly wasn’t up to the task on his own. Instead, he frowned tightly, turned on his heel, and stalked off through the crowd to his limousine, his security detail scrambling to keep up.

“And what about you there, in the white?” Mother Earth said to the Pope.

“I speak for the faithful of a religion that counts millions of followers of every race amongst its numbers,” Pope Leo said, his English tinged with a Russian accent.

“Right, I see, and what religion is that then?”

“The one passed down to us by the Lord God Almighty, in His divine wisdom.”

“Oh, the old man you all are so fond of arguing over,” Mother Earth replied with a chuckle, which sent thousands scrambling in panic as the ground around the Rift shook. “Sorry, sorry,” she added quickly. “This was all so much easier before you lot got everywhere. Anyway, you were saying something about this God person?”