The Great Tribulation

I wake up one morning to the vacant and hollow echoes of the house. It all just happened overnight. Something just doesn’t feel correct. I get up and walk to the doorway and peer inside every single room in the house. No one is there. My mother, my father, my aunt, my grandmother. Everyone is gone.

My heart beats rapidly as I look out the window and find that many people are freaking out in the cold winter’s snow. They are kneeling and running, screeching and screaming, crying in distress.

Suddenly, memories come back to me like a wave. My mother telling me to go to church. My father telling me about the Bible’s prophecy. I never believed any of that. But now I do. And it is too late. I open the window to hear the screeching voices outside. I can barely make out what they are saying, but one woman is crying out, “It’s the rapture, it’s the rapture!”

I tear through the house, trying to look for my mother’s ivory Bible. I find it, inside her desk drawer. I read the revelations, and learn about all the end times. The Great Tribulation is coming. There will be seven years. Seven years before the entire population goes to Hell. I read about the Beast, the seas and rivers of blood. Three and a half years will be pleasant, people following the fearless leader. But it soon will turn to darkness, and in the last three and a half years, over two thirds of the population will die.

It’s going to be a tough seven years, slowly counting down to our fate.