End Days
S. O. J. C.
Copyright 2010 by Thomas Erbar III
Peace placed lovingly into human hands
As superiority and position fall into man’s
A spreading plague, an unspoken evil;
The division of one destroys the two,
Masterfully set and destined to pursue.
Faith and religion; the new name of war
As land after land learns the word conquistador.
Kenya is captured and beaten,
Her blood spread thin
As Christianity consumes continents to save the world from sin.
The promised land to few,
Dependent on ones point of view.
You are welcome to work and not welcome at all,
Freedom and prosperity held as a dream,
But in reality the American scheme.
Now the industrious are cast aside,
Only those from worse abide.
So many fighting over so very little.
Just as before, rats in a race,
Watch as humanity secures its place.
No longer the future, but now, where jobs are scarce and human value is conjointly obscured, people begin to view each other as the only thing between themselves and success…
The summer morning is cool and refreshing. Moisture from the evening past sparkles in candescent anticipation of the sun’s fiery promise and in its last moments this dreamlike glaze fades, allowing drowsy eyes to ignore. Then this secret slumbering world is forgotten all together as ambitious drivers fall victim to vice.
“Oh shoot!” Sam blurts from the helm of her mid-range luxury sedan, “Why do I even bother coming this way?” questioning herself. “It seems like I always get here when the train does.” She looks to the time on the dash then the bright blue lights of the radio face and with a soft push of her finger, click, she switches to her favorite religious talk station and latches onto the end of an economic discussion.
“…Money, business ethics, import, export, outsourcing, the president, the usual; until,” the speaker stops himself, “we’ve heard all these reasons before but I’m not here to drone you with the same random, demeaning and indiscernible babble. I’m here to ask what I always ask; what about God?” interrogating his invisible audience. Although the topic of deity is no longer the taboo subject it once was, it still derives a short pause of hesitation as if it is the questioning of this presumed creator that guarantees damnation. Then the radio host chimes in, “We’re here with social theorist and religious man Jim Thompson, author of this week’s best seller, “Better You than Me.” his latest lament on the woes and worries of life in modern tomorrow. So Jim, you mean to say forget everything else, even our own actions, its God’s plan, God’s fault?”
“No, no.” The author answers in an expectant tone. “Just the opposite, it is our fault, society’s fault, because we no longer want Him or any such humble deficit for that matter, in our lives. Take us for example, our own modern America. Up to a few years ago there was no need for any reminders of hope; ample jobs, no wars or terrorism or wars on terrorism to threaten our way of life. In good times people forget about God or if you’re not a believer, you just become selfish -It’s the same thing really, by believing one’s situation, efforts and well-being are, in their entirety, a result of one’s own imagined power- ‘I did this, I earned that, this is why I don’t suffer.’, we puff ourselves up in either sense and before long, only exist to perform as self-centered, apathetic individuals. We, as a country live in a delusional and therefore dangerous world. There is no need for war, for fear, when people are happy. However, this inadvertently affects faith and morality. Love and brotherhood begin to die, without a common enemy to defend ourselves from we conjure and create new ones, thus destroying the dream this nation was founded on, making it a land where people are free to and very easily turn their backs on one another as well as the less fortun…”
Squeee!
“What the hell!?” Sam shouts at the bumper now inches ahead of her as others begin to slam on their brakes, resulting in several scattered horns sounding off in annoyance. Irritated, startled and in a hurry, Sam re-focuses on her religious program while relying on peripheral senses and slowly moves forward along with the automobile ahead of her. But after only inches her head jolts forward and back again. “Oh my gaaawsh.” she complains as her attention is demanded back to the road.
Ding, ding, ding…
The familiar sound reminds her of her location as the alluring and valid views on society’s downfall becomes a distant chatter. Sam looks around and realizes that she has instinctively rolled up the asphalt incline until dangerously forced to stop. The front wheels of her car rested on the iron rail of the transit guiding track where an easy stop was made when the rubber tires nestled conveniently into the second groove. “Shit! Everyone was moving!” she curses while slapping off the radio’s mindless babble and advertisement then,
Clunk
The long, awkwardly wooden arm swayed lightly as the red and white colored bar bounced on the glass of her windshield. Sam looked to her right and could see the front of the train barreling toward her. She wondered if she had been spotted or not as she tried to look into the un-allowing glare off of the conductor’s window.
HONK
The sound from the means of Sam’s oncoming demise is as unexpected as it is horrifyingly real, “I don’t want a new car this way, so someone had better move!” she jeers skyward while leaning on the horn.
Tacit instinct implies as strength and accuracy from years of entering and exiting the vehicle force her to scoop the handle on her left and fling the door wide open. Sam welcomes the outside air as the hot polluted oxygen pours in heavily. Even the vacant train yard suet is pleasing as it invades her nostrils with the sweet smell of freedom and safety. She takes it in, drinking it all up then forces herself out of the car and to her feet.
Panic places her mind two steps ahead by refusing to process the unreal moment until she finally realizes that her body is still stationary.
Bang!
The metallic sound of rejection sends shivers down her spine. “Oh my God.” she whimpers as tears begin to well. The door has only opened 5 or 6 inches. But what was happening, was it blocked? Sam tugs at her seatbelt in delirious waste then snaps out of her futile attempt and releases the lifesaving restraint with one quick poke at its only button of function then looks up and out of her pulse pounding tunnel vision and finds the obstruction to be a now abandoned car and its never more crucial than now self-explanatory stance that only further testified of her being trapped and immobilized by the other surrounding and selfish drivers.
Subject to the same yet fortunate enough to escape, Sam’s eyes darted, following the young girl driver invisibly beside her just moments ago as bewilderment accompanied the notion that the girl had so easily left her behind. The teen zigzagged between cars, clutching her designer bag fiercely then seamlessly jumped up and turned back around on the curb, joining the small audience of onlookers and leaving Sam with one awkward moment filled with the apologetic face of her deserter.
Sam turned to the passenger’s side, “I’m boxed in.” she yelps within as the gravity of this realization brought her to a morbid calm.
The track begins to tremble or maybe it is her feeble frame looking, searching fervently for a way out. Back to the windshield, cars ahead and in the rearview, all filled with frozen faces agape in anticipation, some looking on directly void of dignity, the rest through reflection but all latched onto her, the no longer living. Sam’s heart races with the nearing of the train as she imagines the track below, remorseless faces and the evening news. Even closer now, the train announces its arrival, its domain; the car shuts off, for Sam a nauseous calm. No
more recession news, no more plans, goals or places to go, only her conscious voice, obligating her to ask of God. “Why? I’m a good person.” But her prayer is answered in cruel irony as the blessed are often allotted a painless untimely death but death just the same, Sam perplexes and concludes that we all must experience the sting of death but perhaps, hopefully so, only the most despicable evil is given the eternal hell that it deserves.
One last somber moment, the stronger of the sexes finds misplaced comfort in her seat, serenely denying the blind to indulge in anything other than her demise by sitting calmly and staring into her lap. For those who have never been teased or tampered by death; it is as bleak and dour as a September wind and welcome by very few. Even the most accomplished and faithful soul doubts and questions, maybe only slightly but still succumbing to its power, its pull to the nether, no matter how eager or educated in the promised paradise beyond and are unable to help but fear the painfully cold and barren place that is death. Next, the steel cargo carrier plows through, brutally mending the three cars together as the estranged passenger within is saved from civilization. Then finally, lastly; the train loses the track and carves into a lifeless, vacant valley conveniently awaiting its destructive end.
That night, thousands will watch and shake their heads in pity or prayer for what is seen as an irresponsible mistake of a motorist in a typical traffic jam and say, “That’s why you have to be careful around trains.” while the half-dozen or so who caused or allowed this will feel the bitterness of guilt and emptiness and damnation as it settles comfortably on their conscience, an un-straying, un-bearable companion, charitable only in misery and abounding in the very visible and apparent secret travesties of their existence.
For there is no avoiding death and little reason in questioning its insistence but when it is welcome, not unto ourselves but unto our friends, our families, our neighbors, our brothers and our sisters or even our enemies, when humanity decides to become a soulless pact, it will simply destroy itself.
And these will be the end days.