The End of the World
is Beautiful
By: Lee Thomas Penn
-Son of-
Thomas Lee Penn
Maria and
Clark watched the television screen, somberly silent, in the living room of
their third-floor apartment. It was a nice apartment with bookshelves, leather
couches, and paintings of Audrey Hepburn – the latter being Maria’s
contribution to the decor. They sat comfortably, hoping to wait out Armaggedon.
Outside fire ants and maple syrup rained from dark clouds, making a pat-pat-pat, splat, pat-pat-pat, splat
sound on the living-room window. The National Weather Service advised all
persons to stay indoors, which was exactly what Maria and Clark were doing.
Yesterday it was a flash flood of red waters – what analysts determined to be
lamb’s blood. The day before that, screeching howler monkeys rode bulls through
the city streets and barraged passers-by with harpoons. And the day before that
angels had destroyed the Internet. But now, while bubonic and airborne chigger
and dung-beetle plagues were ravaging cities across the world, Maria was
plagued by guilt. A gentle, caring strain, but guilt nonetheless. And it was
unbearable to sit next to Clark with this malady taxing her nervous system.
On the
television screen, a little boy of about four or five sat on a throne.
Flashbulbs from beyond the television camera lit up his brown hair and neat
little black suit. He slouched and fidgeted on a red cushion, petting a black,
purring cat and smiling a blissful smile. He liked the attention and waved
happily at the television camera. ANTI-CHRIST the news feed read across the
bottom of the screen. It was the same on every channel, much to Maria and
Clark’s chagrin.
“Peculiar
little twerp,” Clark said.
Maria felt
her body tense with agitation. It was just like him to say something like that,
the close-minded jerk. So insensitive! Maria quite liked the appearance of
Eastern Europe’s (and soon to be the entire world’s) new dictator and harbinger
of lawlessness and desolation, thank you very much. Maybe he would bring some
new, fresh ideas to world politics.
Did Clark ever think of that? Of course not. And this certainly wasn’t the time
for snarky comments, with the future of humanity at stake! He was always saying
moronic things like this. Idiot. He is
the little twerp! She took a weighty breath.
“Clark,
I’ve been thinking,” she said. She turned her head and looked at his knees.
Toby,
Clark’s dog, walked skittishly through the living room and whimpered. He was
afraid of storms, fire ant or otherwise.
“About
what, babe?” Clark asked. He looked at her face, followed her gaze to his
knees, then looked back at her face.
She took
another long, weighty breath. “I want to break up with you.”
“Wait,
what?”
“I want to
break up with you.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“With the
End of Days about to happen? You want to break up with me now?”
“Yes.”
Maria was
still staring down at Clark’s knees. Clark didn’t know where to look. On the
television, the premier of Spain was shaking the tiny hand of the grinning
Anti-Christ.
Outside,
the fire ant and syrup downpour had ceased and a new holy flood of
movie-theatre popcorn butter was washing away the sticky insects. Ravenous
great white sharks patrolled the oily tides, chomping indiscriminately at trees
and car tires. The couple, soon to be mere acquaintances with “a past,” could
hear them ripping into steel car bodies in the apartment parking lot.
The lights
flickered, but the TV remained on.
“I can’t
believe this. After all these months,” Clark said.
“What? The
break-up or Armageddon?”
“That
you’re breaking up with me when we could die any second now! What difference
would it make for us to stay a couple?”
“I don’t
feel it anymore, Clark. I’m tired of you. You annoy me. Your little quirks.
Like, when you laugh, you sound like a duck. I can’t stand it! We don’t have
anything in common, you know?”
Clark
interrupted her here. “Is this about the bug thing? I can stop the bug thing,
if you want.”
Clark liked to capture insects,
study them in little jars, and pair them up for bug-fights. “Get him, Achilles!
Come on, Godzilla!” he would shout as, say, a grasshopper and a beetle
struggled within their glass prison. Clark called it a hobby and kept the jars
on the kitchen counter.
“What? No.
Well, not exactly. What I mean is, you spend all of your time watching
cartoons. I hate cartoons. Did you know that? Can you see what I’m getting at?”
Clark shook
his head.
“And you
don’t know a thing about world affairs or who Brahms is or why it’s important
to read Balzac. I just… Clark, I don’t think we’re right for each other! I need
someone more mature. I’m… I’m sorry. Really, I am.” And she placed her hand on
his forearm.
Now Clark
stared at his knees. “Well, if that’s how you feel…” He quite liked his
cartoons and bug fights and surprise wrestling matches and practical jokes that
he would film and upload onto the Internet. He thought that Maria had liked
these things, too. He pulled his arm away.
“And I’ve
felt terrible these past few weeks, Clark,” Maria said. “When we spent time
together, I felt like I wasn’t being honest with you. You would tell me about
your Lacrosse game and how you made a basket or whatever – I don’t even know –
and I would be happy for you, but I don’t care about Lacrosse. See what I mean?
Situations like that, and I would feel so guilty.
I don’t want to be dishonest anymore. I don’t want to die having deceived you.
And I feel so terrible right now.”
Clark
wouldn’t look at Maria. They stared at the television screen, which had now
split in two. A pastor with a Bible in hand and a red cardigan spoke from the
left half, while coverage of the Anti-Christ continued on the right.
“Now, now
Jim,” said the pastor. “What we’ve been seeing for the past few days is the
most artistic entity in all of the universe really
flexing His creative muscles. With the end of days nigh, God’s just letting
it all out. Hoo-wee! I mean, what we’re seeing is amazing: mountains walking
across the Atlantic, sunken ships returning to port in the Pacific, crop
circles in the shape of our savior – it’s genius! Works of art! I hear that Old
Faithful is spewing chocolate fondue! Golly, it’s all so amazing!”
“But to
what purpose?” asked the newscaster. “Millions are dying around the world, and
for what? God’s gallery opening? America wants to know.”
“Well, Jim,
let me first say that living and dying are irrelevant at this point in time.
We’re all going to die within the next few days, whether it’s from a flaming
sword or from one of the giant squids roaming through Arizona. And as to the
purpose, well, it’s God’s one last call for repentance before he casts all
chaff into the lake of perdition. Even the most stone-hearted atheist cannot
help but believe in God’s omnipotence after staring outside of his window!
“It’s all
here in my book!” The pastor held up a hardcover for the camera. “Last-Chance Salvation. These final days
are terrifying, America! God’s holy wrath is laying waste to the Earth, and
Hell has been pre-heating its ovens for the unrepentant sinner! The Devil has a
recipe for you, my little cupcakes – don’t you forget it! But take comfort! My
book will help you to wake up in the right place, a place filled with light and
beautiful music and all of the wafers that you can eat. This isn’t the end –
it’s a new beginning.”
“Thank you.
That was Pastor Phillips,” said the newscaster. “Next we’ll have a talk with
Amy, live from the Vatican Museums, where apparently the statuary have come to
life! She has an interview with the Roman god Apollo in just a few moments.”
As if on
cue, fire and brimstone began to rain from Heaven outside of the apartment
window. The flaming rocks landed in the flood of butter and began to sizzle and
steam. Soon the butter was boiling, and the great white sharks flopped about
wildly. Their flesh turned a golden brown, and in five minutes the sharks were
floating belly-up in the broiling seas. Then the rain of brimstone stopped.
With grunts and growls, a troop of grizzly bears came galloping from the West
and began to eat the tasty meal.
By an
actual miracle, the destructive rain had spared Maria and Clark’s apartment.
Clouds of smoke billowed from their neighborhood, and the pair could hear Toby
whimpering in the bathroom.
“How long
have you felt this way?” Clark asked.
“Not for very
long.”
“And you
don’t think that we could fix… this?”
“No, I
don’t, Clark.”
“So what
now?” He couldn’t hide the agitation in his voice.
“I still
want us to be friends.”
“Yeah,
sure. Whatever.”
“I mean
it!”
They were
silent for a few minutes. They could hear the bears feasting outside.
“Fine, but
you can’t live here anymore.”
“Okay,
I’ll… I’ll move out.”
“Take Toby
with you.”
“But he’s
your dog!”
“Yeah, but
he likes you more.”
“Clark,
don’t be like this.”
They heard
a yelp! from the bathroom, and suddenly Toby came slinking into the living
room… only he was walking on the ceiling. He paused, spotted the ceiling fan,
and began to chase the blades around in a circle, barking in Shih-tzu and
German Shepherd and other doggy tongues.
“Toby, hush!”
Clark commanded, and Toby sprawled out obediently on the ceiling, watching the
fan blades turning around and around and around. Toby was a good dog.
“Are you
okay?” Maria asked Clark.
“What do
you think? My girlfriend would rather break up with me than spend our last few
moments alive together. How do you think I feel?”
“I’m sorry,
Clark. I really am. But, that’s why I
had to do it, don’t you see? I still feel terrible because I know how much this
must hurt you.” She tried to touch him, but he pulled away.
Clark
didn’t say anything.
“Clark, I
want you to forgive me.”
“What? No.”
“Clark,
please!”
“Fine, I
forgive you. When are you leaving?”
“Please,
Clark, I need you to mean it.”
“You’re
torturing me,” he said and then fell into silence.
Outside,
not half a mile from the apartment window, a giant chasm opened in the earth.
With quakes and groans, the rift tore through Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. The
earth exhaled a prehistoric, gaseous cloud. All of the butter and the syrupy
ants and grizzly bears and partially eaten sharks and charred debris caught up
in its currents and whirlpooled into the
deep hole, which drank insatiably. Clark and Maria’s apartment sagged slightly
in the direction of the sucking hole and loose furniture slid across the apartment.
Books crashed off of the shelves, Audrey Hepburn inclined her head, and glass
jars shattered onto the kitchen floor. Toby dug into the ceiling with his paws
to keep from sliding.
“Stop
whimpering, Toby,” Clark said.
Maria was
crying. She felt so wretched. She hated the idea of hurting someone. Wasn’t she
doing the right thing by breaking up with Clark?
By now, all
of the electricity had gone out in the apartment. Yet by some demonic force,
the television continued to display coverage of the Anti-Christ, as it did in
every home across the world. Now the president of Sweden was presenting a
tribute of collectible Pokémon trading cards to the little boy. The Anti-Christ
laughed and held them up to the camera. They were shiny, and he seemed to like them
immensely.
Suddenly, a
man on a blood-red horse approached the Anti-Christ’s throne. He wore the
face-paint of a clown – obviously at the behest of the young dictator. The man
stepped down from his horse and whispered into the Anti-Christ’s ear, who listened
attentively. The boy laughed and clapped his hands eagerly. He faced the clown
and nodded. The man then mounted his horse, took the boy by the hand, and
hoisted him onto the saddle. The Anti-Christ and the Horseman of War, laughing
joyously, bounded away from the line of expectant world leaders.
Now Maria
and Clark could hear heavenly trumpet blasts announcing the final great war
between Good and Evil. They were omnipresent notes, resounding throughout every
nation and to the rhythm of a mariachi band. Loud, stormy winds screamed from
outside, and the floor began to rumble.
Suddenly,
Maria slipped right out of her clothes and reverse-fell flat onto the ceiling.
Her blouse, pants, bra, and undies lay right where she had been sitting on the
couch.
“Oof!” she
said.
“What the
hell?”
“Clark, I’m
scared!” Maria cried.
“What’s
happening to you?”
“I think
that I’m being raptured!”
“Being
what?”
“Delivered
up to Heaven!”
“Oh!”
Clark, incidentally, remained in
his seat on the couch, still snug in his clothes. He stared in wonder at the
nude woman on his ceiling.
“Clark, I need you to forgive me!”
“That again? Forget it!”
The roof groaned above Maria and
creaked and stretched up toward the sky. Toby still lay flat on the ceiling,
growling.
“Please, this is your last chance!
Clark!”
He stared up into Maria’s eyes.
Maybe it was because he remembered all of the good times that they had shared.
Maybe it was because deep inside his heart, Clark was a good person. Maybe it
was because he realized that forgiving was the only way to stay a part of her
life, the girl whom he cared about so very much. Maybe it was because she was
naked.
Regardless, Clark’s stony heart
grew soft, and he shouted over the rushing winds, “Yes, I forgive you, Maria!”
And he genuinely felt it. Maria smiled.
As he let go of his bitterness,
gravity and Clark’s clothes let go of Clark. He rose up to the ceiling too,
just as the cement and wooden supports and drywall was torn away by the force
of the storm. Above their heads, a vortex swirled in the center of a dark,
thunderous hurricane. Angels dressed in combat fatigues and carrying golden
AK-47’s cascaded out of Heaven like falling stars.
“Move it!” barked a commanding
angel. “We’re going to be late!”
“What’s that, sir?” asked a lower
angel, pointing at the floating bodies of Maria, Clark, and Toby.
The commanding angel looked and
understood. “Get those civilians out of here!”
“Sir, yes sir!”
A holy wind collected under their
bodies and propelled the three innocents up into the eye of the hurricane.
Maria and Clark experienced a sensation similar to an express elevator or a
rollercoaster made of pillows. Toby wagged his tail happily and bit at the cool
breeze. Angels turned and stared as they passed.
Up, up the
bodies flew toward the Eccentric Artist and His Heaven.
And just as they broke through the
cloud-cover, a deafening, omnipotent, mortal-shattering voice proclaimed to all
of the world, “My greatest masterpiece is complete.”
