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The Rapture

Remastered in HD

By The Fly EarthlingPublished about a year ago 6 min read
Photo By Jorge Simmons-Valenzuela

“Okay. So … Let’s start from the beginning,” A forty-something shrink, Dr. Gee, in a blue turtle-neck sweater and plaid skirt says, adjusting her round lens eyeglasses. Her brown hair corralled tightly in a baseball-size bun. “Robert and,” She checks her notes, “An-dro-meda Winters. Hm, such a pretty name.” A compliment the doctor serves out of obligation for butchering Andromeda’s name. “Who would like to go first?”

Seated on gray couch across from her, Robert (in all white) and Andromeda (in all black) swap glances at one another.

Robert takes lead. “Just so we’re clear, by ‘the beginning,’ you mean the point when Ange began selfishly sabotaging our whole trip because she was¬–going through stuff?” He places his last few words in finger brackets.

.“We’re not pointing fingers Robert,” Dr. Gee says. “Let’s try and focus objectively.”

“I think she means the very beginning,” Andromeda chimes. “Like from the point when your poor decision making convinced me that the trip was a good idea in the first place. A theme that would continue and lead us, ultimately, here.”

“Don’t forget, that same decision making also kept us alive.”

“No, good fortune and my problem solving kept us alive, Robert. Survival is not the single measurable standard of success. You are a tsunami of bad decisions and I am a wall of sensibility and restraint.”

Robert laughs and nods. “Yes Ange, you are a wall. Stubborn and rigid.”

Andromeda’s mouth opens wide and her eyes become razor sharp.

“O-kay!” Dr. Gee interjects. “We are here to process feelings in a healthy manner. It is okay to be angry but we must use our breath,” She breathes deep, “to release our emotions and our words to communicate our intention. Now, let’s start over, speak one at a time and be supportive.

“You’re right doc.” Robert agrees. “I’ll go first just to keep things accurate.”

Andromeda rolls her eyes.

Robert clears his throat. “It all started on a routine cross-world trip—

“No, no, no.” Andromeda waves her hands in objection. “It all started in rural Maryland…”

Knock, Knock.

Door opens.

Andromeda and Robert stand outside the home in the doorway.

Andromeda steps forward with a toothy smile. “Greetings. My name is Andromeda and this is my husband Robert. We just crashed our ship and were wondering if you could put us in contact with your leaders.”

A middle-aged woman stands expressionless in the doorway. She looks the two of them over before slamming the door shut.

Two minutes later…

Knock, Knock.

Door opens.

Andromeda steps forward. “Greetings. My name is Andromeda and this is my husband Robert. We crash-landed here and—

“We’re not religious and we don’t eat cookies,” A man with small rectangular reading glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose says, before giving a small awkward wave and easing the door closed.

Andromeda and Robert look confused.

Robert gropes his ungroomed facial hair. “Cookies?”

Two minutes later…

Knock, Knock.

“Greetings. Your planet is in danger.”

The woman at the door walks away momentarily. She returns with two handfuls of candy and hands them to Andromeda and Robert.

Two minutes later…

Knock, Knock.

Door opens. Door closes.

Two minutes later…

“I told you this wouldn’t work,” Andromeda says to Robert who walks alongside her.

“It is always best to be open and honest, Ange.”

“Oh, is that why you chose not to go by your star name? My point is the humans are delicate. We have to give them a narrative that they’ll find more acceptable.”

Robert unwraps a piece of candy. “Maybe it’s because we’re black.”

“Please. In this timeframe the humans have matured in their ways.

After a moment of chewing Robert spits out a green wad. “Is that why they still drive gas powered transportation?”

“They’ve had their setbacks.”

“I’ll try to convince them.”

Two minutes later…

Knock, Knock.

“Be sure to speak to the woman,” Andromeda advises. “We are the more compassionate gender.”

A man eating an apple opens the door.

“Salutations to you sir. May I speak with your wife?”

The man drops his apple.

Ten minutes later…

Andromeda and Robert sit in front of a gas station at the corner of an intersection. Robert’s plain white attire is damp with perspiration and bears some stains. The sun is an egg yok boiling in the sky. Around them, the footsteps of the dominate lifeform march. Mobile phones. With pivoting arms that carry them securely and mounted heads with dual retinas attached for guidance. Robert watches with pity. “They have no idea what’s coming. They’re oblivious.”

“Be that as it may, we must find a way to warn them.”

The implausibility of the task causes Robert to laugh. “We could shout it from the top of this ration station. No one would care. They would all just call us insane and tell their little handheld devices what buffoons we are. “See!” Robert eagerly tugs Andromeda’s attention to a curbside charity on the opposite corner from them. “Take a look at these humble gentleman.”

One of the scraggly men has a sign that reads: “IT’S THE END OF THE WORLD.” And the other has one that says: “CAN I PLEASE HAVE A DOLLAR?”

“They are serving their species in the highest and noblest of orders by informing them. And all they ask for in return is a single note of legal tender.”

Andromeda’s brain begins to conserve energy by only half-listening to Robert. Surely a more productive use of brain cells will be found in the near future.

Robert continues wagging his head at all the street walkers paying no attention to the prophets of doom on the corner. “They’ll never listen.”

“We have to make them listen.”

Robert’s chin rests in the palm of his hand as his head turns slow, inching to face Andromeda, like it’s anchored down on a rusted joint. “How?”

“Perhaps by using something they’ll listen to.”

Robert moves his hand from his chin and snaps his finger. “Of course! We need mobile phones.”

Andromeda winces at him. “No…Robert. Like their central broadcasting system. Voices they trust.”

“Right, right,” Robert nods along. “What about their religious leaders?”

“We tried that in a star system located in the constellation of Taurus nearly one-thousand years ago.”

“Ah, yes. The Crab Nebula. Booshhh!” A bursting sound spews from Robert’s lips as he recalls the fate of the small galaxy.

“It never works.”

“There must be a command center or embassy nearby.”

Walking unsteadily on a crack in the sidewalk, a young girl approaches Andromeda and Robert. With two exploding pigtails on the sides of her head and a family-size bag of potato chips, the little girl stops in front of them and stares. And crunches. “Are you lost?”

“We are stranded, little one,” Robert says. “We are from a faraway galaxy. Our ship crashed about three miles from here, and we desperately need to speak to Earth’s leadership to warn them of what’s coming.”

The girl wipes her greasy hand on her pant-leg and whips a cell phone out of her side pocket. She begins typing with her thumb.

Andromeda and Robert exchange concerned frowns.

“You need to go here,” The girl says, holding out the screen of her phone.

Andromeda reads the text aloud. “The White House. Fifteen miles away.”

The girl nods. “Ask to speak with the president.”

Robert stands and bows to the young child. “You are a purveyor of wisdom child.”

“We’ll need to find means of transportation. Thank you, young one,” Andromeda says in bowing respect.

“I have a spaceship too!” The little girl reaches into her pocket and pulls out a silver saucer-shaped toy.

“Stop right there!” An officer yells, with his gun drawn an aimed at Andromeda and Robert. Two flashing squad cars veer in after.

“What is the meaning of this?” Andromeda asks, as she and Robert are swarmed in seconds.

“We’re bringing you in on charges of suspicious activity and disturbing the peace,” The officer says.

Robert, confused and infuriated walks toward the office. “Disturbing the peace?! Sir, we are from the Alpha Centauri federation of peace keepers! We have been nothing but passive and accommodating to the citizens of this planet.”

Perplexed, the heads of the seven officers on the scene fall to one side like a row of toppled dominos. An officer pats Robert down. He unzips Robert’s breast pocket and pulls out a handful of candy. “For the long trip?” The officer asks.

Robert’s arms are brought forcefully behind his back. “Unhand me! You are all in danger! You’re making a mis–”

Taser-wires hit Robert’s chest. Thud!

To be continued...

SeriesSci FiHumorFantasy

About the Creator

The Fly Earthling

"In a world where reincarnation is real, Y.O.L.O. has no contextual relevance." - The Fly Earthling

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