End of Days

Flash Fiction regarding the past predicted rapture

"For me it was a whisper."
"A whisper? Was it someone you know?"He tilted his head slightly.
"Knew," she looked away from his curious face, his piercing blue eyes.
"I don't underst- "
"and it wasn't just someone, it was someones," she looked back at him to find a change in expression.
"You mean to say you heard ghost whispers?" He leaned in close brow furrowed an amusing smile forming across his lips.
"Yes." She meant to burn his cocky blonde head with her stare but her old brown eyes did not deliver the same sting as his laughing blue orbs.
"So what did these ghosts of yours have to say? Must have been quite a secret seeing as they had to whisper?" He chuckled and sat back in his chair - her chair really seeing as this is her house.
She looked down at her wrinkled hands, folded in her lab. She figured if they were knotted tightly enough it would stop her whole body from shaking.
"Well, are you going to tell me what you're dead friends said or not?" His smile was beginning to fade.
She refused to look at such hostility. All niceties gone he wanted to finish up his report and be out of her humble home; he wanted to be back out in a world spiraling into further chaos. She, however, wanted to stay right where she was - she still had some cleaning up to do. Her husband's cotton pajamas still nestled the indention of their bed down the hall; she promised herself that after a month, if she was still alive, she would take them up, fold them, and tuck them far into the depths of his drawer. As for a funeral, well, there is no body, not even a sliver of silver hair to lay rest so that single domestic act would be his funeral.
"Look. I don't care what they said," he shook his head and slowly rose from the rigid kitchen chair, "Honestly, I don't know why we have to do all this reporting stuff. There are bigger issues at hand," he mumbled to himself.
He handed her the report he was scribbling on, "sign your name at the bottom there and I'll be out of your hair."
She stared down at the paper for a minute, hesitant to sign. He rubbed his eyes with one rough hand impatiently.
"You're not signing your soul away I promise." 
She continued to look down at the paper in her lap.
"Listen, I'm going to have a quick smoke outside and when I come back that paper had better be signed," he stomped away from the dining room table toward the front door.
"Come, follow me," she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. She looked up, wizened eyes red and sad. He slowly turned around to face her.
"Excuse me?"
"My older sister, my mom and dad, my two year old son and a voice as familiar as my own whispered to me as clear as a church meditation bell on a fresh Sunday morning 'come, follow me'."

Reviews

[Sasha]

Great stuff. I really enjoyed reading this.

[Scarlet]

This was really, really well written. It drew me in straight away! It was creepy, a little sad. The only thing is that I thought the ending was a little abrupt, but the beginning and the middle - absolutely stellar.

[SilentScreaming]

I agree with Rose. The typos did distract me slightly but it was good enough to look around.
This was a great poem and I enjoyed reading it immensly.
Great write!

[Rose F.]

Wow. I loved this. The typos distracted me a little BUT the descriptions were spot on. You helped me feel the fear and the shock from the woman and the ignorant sarcasm from the man. You are very talented and I hope to read more from you. =)