The Prophecy

Things to do the day the world ends.

 

The old man, slightly stooped by the downward tugs of time and gravity, went into his back yard, looked up, squinted at the bright blue morning sky and wondered, Is this the day it will all end? Will the world come to a screeching halt on the second Tuesday in a warm September? There were those who believed it would and for months they had been preaching their beliefs to every open microphone they could find. The old man didn’t usually pay attention to such prophecies. After all, when the deadlines passed uneventfully the Armageddon-experts always ended up looking as authentic as politicians in church. This time though, it seemed different. This time Jackson Smith - photographer by trade and skeptic by inclination - was pricked by a sense of panic. He shivered and thought, How does one prepare for the end?

Jackson had been a list maker for his entire life, so he went back into the house, grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, and sat down at the kitchen table.  At the top of the paper he wrote, “Things to do on the day the world ends.”  Below that he wrote “# 1”.   He paused and thought. And thought. He looked around and saw that the sink was full of dirty dishes. Jackson, whose wife had run off with a butcher many years before, lived alone. It was his habit to put off washing dishes until he either ran out of clean ones or spotted a roach feasting on some leftover bit of egg or gravy.  He decided it would not  be proper to leave behind dirty dishes on the day the world ended, so he got up and set about washing them.

When the last dish was dried and put away Jackson sat back down at the table and stared again at the empty space next to “# 1”.  A fly buzzed by his face, interrupting his train of thought. He swatted it away, but it soon returned. It was very insistent and even landed on the end of his nose. He swatted it away again. “Mr. Fly,” he said aloud, “is this really what you want to be doing on the day the world ends? Pestering an old man?”  The fly would not go away. This time it landed on the back of his hand. Jackson slapped at it but the fly was a fraction of a second faster than he was. Then he stood up, walked to the cabinet, reached in and brought out a fly swatter.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to die before the world does,” he said. The fly was on the back of a chair.  He walked to it slowly, raised the swatter, and then brought it down with a smack. He missed. The fly circled his head a few times, then landed on the stove. Jackson swatted again. Jackson missed again.  

After chasing the fly around the kitchen for several minutes Jackson was beginning to get winded. Enough of this, he thought. He put down the swatter and started rummaging around under the sink. He found what he was looking for: insecticide in a spray can. “I’m not messing around any more,” he said to the fly. “Prepare to meet your maker.” The fly was on the window sill above the sink. Jackson walked up to it slowly, held the can just inches away from the fly, and pressed the button. Nothing. He shook the can and tried again. Again, nothing. The can was empty. He felt like the fly was laughing at him. This might be my last battle on the last day the world exists, he thought. He pointed at the fly. “Just you wait,” he said aloud. “This is not over!”  He grabbed his car keys off the hook by the door and left the house.

The parking lot at the local A&P was crowded. Apparently, Jackson imagined, with customers who wanted to mourn the end of the world with a full stomach. He went inside and hurried straight to the pesticide section. He scanned the shelves, picked out the deadliest looking can he could find and went to the 10-items and under checkout stand. He was in line behind a woman who might have been pretty once, many years ago. She had a toddler with her - a boy - sitting in the basket, chewing on an unopened pack of Spearmint chewing gum.

Jackson looked at the child, feeling very sad that someone so young, who had lived such a pitifully small bit of life, might now be doomed by the end of the world. A small tear appeared in the corner of Jackson’s eye. He reached out and softly touched the top of the boy’s head. Unfortunately, the child screamed as though Jackson had touched him with a hot branding iron.

“What are you doing to my grandson?” screeched the woman.

“I was just patting him on the head,” said Jackson.

The woman turned to her right and shouted, “Child molester!” She turned to the left and shouted it again. Every eye in the A&P was trained on Jackson. A store manager appeared and grabbed him roughly by the arm.

“I’m not a child molester,” Jackson said to the manager. “I’m a photographer. And I’m just here to buy some insecticide.”

“A pornographer, huh?” said the manager as he dialed 911 on his cell phone.

“No, no. A photographer.”

“I’m the dayside manager of the A&P,” the manager said into the phone. “I’ve captured a child molester. I’ll hold him until you can get a squad car here.”

For a moment Jackson forgot that the world might end that day.  His only thought was to get the hell out of that A&P. He wrenched his arm away from the manager and ran toward the door. “Stop, you scumbag!” someone yelled.  Just as the automatic door opened in front of Jackson he was tackled from behind. He reached around and hit the man on the head with the can of insecticide.  He groaned and let go of Jackson who jumped up and ran outside.

He was followed by a group of angry shoppers shouting things like “Stop the b*****d!”, “String him up!”, “Let’s pull his pants down and cut it off!”  Jackson ran as fast as he could but his pursuers were much younger and much faster. By the time he reached the handicapped parking spaces they had caught him and wrestled him to the ground. He was being held down by a tangled mass of arms and legs.  He couldn’t move. He could scarcely breath because of the weight of humanity pressing him down. He was almost relieved when he heard the siren.

Jackson sat, handcuffed, in the back of the patrol car. He watched as the cop talked to the boy’s grandmother, the store manager, and the tackler who held an ice pack on his eye. The little boy watched it all with his bottom lip stuck out in a perpetual pout.  There was still a crowd of shoppers milling around, staring at Jackson, shaking their heads, whispering to one another. Jackson sighed. This would not have been on his to-do list.

That night Jackson Smith was sitting in a cell, his head in his hands, wondering how he had managed to get God so angry. Elsewhere in the city a man with a black eye was telling his wife about his heroism. An A&P manager was standing by his telephone, expecting a hearty atta boy, and maybe even a promotion from the regional manager. A woman was watching television and drinking screwdrivers while her grandson was smilingly dirtying his diaper.  A cop was in a bar telling his brother officers about getting a pervert off the streets.  And in Jackson’s kitchen, a fly was sitting on the kitchen table, right beside a piece of paper with “# 1” written on it.  The fly was content, having just dined on a bit of rotten fruit it had discovered on the floor. At the instant the world ended the fly might actually have been smiling.

 

                       © 2016 Stanley R. Teater

                             All rights reserved

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

WOW. There is a gnawing truth to this fine bit of writing. How many of us will have our own end, in the middle of the mundane...it makes me shudder a little. We live in the moment...in all its mediocrity at times. There is a dark humor in this as well. I enjoyed it much.

[Valentine]

One of your best. Good intentions often get us into trouble. Well written and you built up to the climax great. Valentine

[wordman]

the profit and the prophecy ignited my curiousity

[M Edward H]

Such a thoughtful entanglement. A succinct commentary on the fate of a melancholy human soul.

[Dr. Ryan Nolte]

I believe the world as he knew it did end. That's how the individual mind works. We live what we perceive to be in a world of others and with others, but ultimately it's ours and how we view it. Nice story to that point. It makes me think about the things we do and if we did something just a little different, we may have a different world, a different ending so to speak.

[Ghada Elgazzar]

very nice story. i'm so mad at the fly now lol.

[Hamada, Kimiko]

What a nice story featuring such a dark topic. The ending of Earth and all its creatures. I enjoyed this.

[Jenny Leigh]

Awesome story Stanley. All that trouble because of a fly. Kind of reminded me of when my mother would chase fly's around the house with the swatter.

[Coyote Poetry]

A wild tale with a sad ending. You make the scenes come alive. I like the set-up and the strong description. Life can mess us up and leave us in bad places. Thank you for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote