#3 The Rapture
by E.E. King
[this is the third in the three part series–
read Three Tales of Rapture from the beginning, here]
Priscilla sat next to her husband Hewn. The road on either side of them stretched ahead endless, flat and arid. They had a long drive before them. It was hundreds of miles, from their home in Lynchburg Tennessee to Salvation Oklahoma. There she and Hewn would join hands and hearts with 100,000 or more brethren under the big white tent. There they would raise their voices in prayer, giving thanks together, under the watchful eyes of God and Jesus.
The wind blew, dusting the trees and flowers grey. The land was colorless. Priscilla’s hands moved back and forth knitting a pair of blue wool booties for Hewn. He already had over twenty pair, but she liked to keep occupied.
“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” she muttered.
The view ahead was blocked by the doors of a huge semi. “Jesus bless this journey,” Priscilla, muttered. “Jesus bless the loneliness of the long-distance trucker and keep him company.”
Suddenly as if by supplication, the doors flew open. A dozen figures rose out of the truck, up, up, up, lighter than prayer, higher than the notes of Sister Jessie Fargo’s soprano solos.
“It’s the Rapture!” cried Priscilla, “Jesus take me too. Jesus don’t leave me here, poor miserable sinner though I am.”
She fumbled with the door handle, struggling to release her seat belt and unlock the door. The bodies soared above her disappearing like lost hope. It seemed forever before she managed to get the door open. She cast herself out. The pavement rose to meet her, harder than disbelief. She never knew that the truck ahead of her was a blow-up doll manufacturer who had forgotten to latch his door.
*
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