Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Apocalypse snippets #2 - Gabriel Jackson, age 6

Disclaimer: This is part of a project I'm undertaking this semester to explore the way the apocalypse goes down in a novel I've had half-formed in my head for a couple of years. The following may be random, shitty first draft-type writing, unsuitable for human consumption, and may not make up a complete story by the end of the semester. Do not read while operating heavy machinery, not intended for ingestion, etc.

Momma says Jesus is coming for us. I'm on the big couch with Freckles, and Pastor Clark is on the TV waving his arms and screaming. Momma and me been watching him since he got on TV yesterday, but she put the mute on a couple hours ago, after she got the phone call. All she's done since the phone call is walk around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards and getting food out and then putting it back in.

Pastor Clark is pointing a finger at somebody in the seats. He's red in the face. I'd rather be watching my cartoons, but Momma says we gotta stay on Pastor Clark until it happens. I tried to ask her if there'd be cartoons to watch with Jesus, and she didn't know. There's been sirens outside for awhile now.


She almost slams a cupboard door, catches herself, then leans on the counter like she just ran all the way down the block. "Yeah, Gabe?"

"When's Dad getting home?"

She leans harder, and I wonder what's so exhausting about walking around the kitchen playing with cupboard doors. "Please don't ask me that, baby."

You'd think she'd be happier than this, what with Jesus coming back and all. Momma loves Jesus more than anything. She's been excited to meet him all her life. Maybe if I remind her, she'll cheer up. "D'you know when Jesus is coming?" I ask, and pause, petting Freckles's neck. "D'you think he takes dogs, too?"

Momma stares with her mouth open. Then her eyes droop and she covers her face, crying. On the TV, Pastor Clark is red in the face, clenching the pulpit and not screaming anymore. Momma sits down at the kitchen table and hides her face in her arms, and her crying is the only sound in the house.

I guess Jesus doesn't take dogs.

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