Red Luckys, Please: A flash-fiction story
A flash-fiction short story: Status: finished, edited, ready for a good journal.
What if they threw a Rapture and nobody left behind even noticed right off?
That thought crosses Wally’s mind as he tries to make sense of the disappearance of his wife Annie.
And that’s the basis of my short story, “Red Luckys, Please.”
Now, I’m not particularly religious, and I confess I consider the Christian Bible to be more of a collection of stories, histories, wisdoms, advice for living, poems, and nonsense all written by men and therefore as reliable as men can be, rather than being the Word-of-God. But I do read it, and I am fascinated by it. I find much of value in there. Sermon on the Mount? Sermon on the Plain? Most of the parables? Good stuff.
Yet I have to say, as I know many people do, that there are few books more bizarre and less clear than The Revelation to John.
That book of course is the basis for all Christian End-of-Days beliefs (excepting some small even less-clear references in places like The Gospel According to Matthew and Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians.) And of course, the most exciting End-of-Days belief is that of the Rapture, the event in which all good boys and girls are going to be lifted to Heaven. Revelation references only one number for the event, 144,000, and it’s mentioned more than once. So, is that all who’ll get to go? Seems a little low, not just to me, but apparently to nearly all End-of-Days believers. I’ve seen all sorts of interpretations of Rapture prophecies that first must dismiss the number 144,000 as irrelevant, and then go on to estimate the actual number of people who would be risen to heaven in that event based on calculations that, as far as I can determine, are themselves based on nothing actually in the book. I’ve seen suggestions of 1-2 billion souls, 3-4 billion, 15% of the world population, 25%, 50% … Whatever, these various interpretations seem, to me, desperate to expand that field big enough to certainly include you-know-who, while still making it a pretty exclusive club, as in: “Most of ya’ll aren’t worthy, but I’m sure I already earned my ticket.”
So: What if there is a Rapture, and what if only 144,000 people are holding lucky Golden Tickets?
Would those of us left behind even notice right off?
“Red Luckys, Please” is a flash-fiction short story that runs about 250 words.
Excerpt:
Wally turned his sorrow into anger at the cops. “Arrest my ass if you think I did something to my wife,” he said. “I’d rather die in jail.”
He was angry at TV people too, for reporting endlessly on some big-shit philanthropist who vanished about the same time while saying pretty much zip about Annie.
Lastly, he was pissed at God, for letting this be.
Three years went by without a trace. Life continued unchanged, just hollowed. Ironically, TV renewed Wally’s faith. “Dateline” ran a story on a girl missing three years now from Medford, Oregon. Same fucking date.
