N. White: The End - Visions of Apocalypse

The van’s side door slowly slid open, and three robed men stepped carefully down to the ground. They turned and offered assistance to a much older man, bent with age, who still managed to kneel and kiss the ground upon exiting, the dew-soaked grass staining his bright white robes at the knees. He shook the first man’s hand while placing his other hand warmly on his shoulder, then gestured towards the coupe.

From that car, a rumpled middle-aged man emerged with little fanfare. His hair had the tousled look of having recently been slept on, and his clothes were a mishmash of denim and tweed. He pulled a pair of glasses from a pocket, wiped some dust from them with the edge of his untucked shirt, and put them on, blinking into the morning sun. He stepped forward and shook hands with the other two men. Then they turned and walked towards the Rift.

“Well, good morning!” Mother Earth said cheerfully as they approached. Her voice was heard in Swahili and English and dozens of other languages. All heard her words in their native tongues. “And who might you be then?”

The man in the suit spoke first. “Michael Madison, President of the United States,” he said in a gruff voice filled with Mid-Western winters.

“Oh, how very nice for you!”

“His Holiness Pope Leo XIV,” said one of the robed men with a nod to the man in white, “Most Holy Father of the Roman Catholic Church.”

“What a lovely gown!”

“Dr. Livingston Chapman,” the last man said, in a crisp British accent the belied his ramshackle attire. “Professor of Geology at Cambridge.”

“My, but your mum must be so proud!”

“We’ve been selected to speak for the people of the world,” President Madison said.

“Well, just the pale people, from the looks of it.”

“No,” President Madison said, “I was elected to represent a diverse variety of colors and creeds.”

“Pity you couldn’t bring some of them with you though, isn’t it?”

The President blinked, the frantic coaching of a dozen speech writers and philosophers on the flight to Kenya running through his head. “Well, you see, in the great experiment that is American democracy…”

“No, no, no,” Mother Earth said, “I don’t want to talk to someone who’s still experimenting. That means you haven’t gotten it right yet, doesn’t it?”

“Our system of government has worked for over two hundred and twenty five years,” Madison said defensively.

“Dearie, I’ve had blinks that lasted longer than that.”

“But you must understand…”

The ground abruptly rose beneath the President’s feet, sending him staggering and his security detail rushing to his side to catch him before he fell. “Look here,” Mother Earth said, “when you’ve had an asteroid slam into you, then maybe you can come around and tell me what I must and mustn’t do.” The ground settled, leaving Madison dangling in the arms of his agents. “Oh, I can tell this just isn’t going to work at all, I’m afraid. I do appreciate you coming, though. By all means keep working on that experiment of yours.”

President Madison gaped as his agents set him down. “You… you want me to leave?”

“Oh, you can stay and watch if you like.”

Madison shrugged off the agents. “I’m the leader of the free world!”

“I am the free world. And I don’t remember voting for you, sorry.”

Several dozen speech writers and philosophers would have been unable to articulate the thoughts running through the President’s head at that moment in any socially acceptable way, and he certainly wasn’t up to the task on his own. Instead, he frowned tightly, turned on his heel, and stalked off through the crowd to his limousine, his security detail scrambling to keep up.

“And what about you there, in the white?” Mother Earth said to the Pope.

“I speak for the faithful of a religion that counts millions of followers of every race amongst its numbers,” Pope Leo said, his English tinged with a Russian accent.

“Right, I see, and what religion is that then?”

“The one passed down to us by the Lord God Almighty, in His divine wisdom.”

“Oh, the old man you all are so fond of arguing over,” Mother Earth replied with a chuckle, which sent thousands scrambling in panic as the ground around the Rift shook. “Sorry, sorry,” she added quickly. “This was all so much easier before you lot got everywhere. Anyway, you were saying something about this God person?”

The cardinals in his entourage gasped at the impropriety, but Pope Leo silenced them and went on. “‘This God person,’ as you put it, is the Creator of all things, even unto the beginning of time.”

“First I’m hearing of it.”

“We have His own words,” the Pope said, gesturing to one of his cardinals, who hurriedly produced a Bible from the folds of his robes. The Pope took the book, opened it, and read aloud. “‘In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.’”

“Well listen to him going on,” Mother Earth huffed, a small puff of steam rising from the ground. “Created me, did he?”

“In six days. And on the seventh, He rested,” the Pope intoned.

“Ooh, now you’re just trying to flatter me! Six days, as if I’m that young!”

“Nevertheless, so it is written.”

“Well it’s obvious I should be talking to this God then, not you,” Mother Earth said.

“He speaks through His word,” the Pope said, holding up the Bible.

“Yes, but I’ve never been much of a reader. So much simpler if I could just talk to him.”

“We speak to Him through prayer.”

“And what’s that then?”

“Just speak to Him.”

“All right, but I don’t see the point in talking to someone who isn’t there.” There was a slight rumble. “Hello? God?” The last word echoed through the Rift, and across the crowd, who looked up expectantly. Only silence replied. “I say, Mr. God?” A breeze stirred, but still no response came. “Well, now I feel a bit silly.”

“He moves in mysterious ways,” the Pope said, his smile wavering slightly. “He doesn’t always reply in a manner we understand.”

“No, I’m sorry, love, but I need to talk to someone who’ll talk back, and not through some old book.”

The Pope’s shoulders fell. He turned and whispered briefly with his cardinals. Then they all dropped to their knees and began to pray.

“All right, but I don’t see what good that’ll do. And how about you?” she said to Dr. Chapman. “You someone who thinks he’s too big for his britches or talks to imaginary people?”

“Um, no, ma’am,” Dr. Chapman said nervously. “I just know a lot about geology. Which I’m not quite sure this is about anymore. Still, here I am.”

“Oh, but you’re a funny one,” Mother Earth said her tone lightening. “I might just like you. So, what’s that you said? Geology?”

“It’s the study of… well, of you, actually.”

“Ooh, little old me?” she delighted. “Go on, go on!”

“Oh. Right, well, you see, I basically study what you’re made of, where you came from, where you’re going. All done very discreetly and with the utmost respect, of course” he added hurriedly.

“Believe me, the way you’re all constantly digging into me, I wouldn’t have noticed. But the courtesy is appreciated.” She paused. “So how did you become a geologist?”

“Four years undergraduate study at Oxford, four more in the graduate program at Cambridge, and extensive childhood experience digging up my mother’s garden.”

“Ha!” Mother Earth said, a peal of thunder punctuating her laugh. “So you did it all on your own then? Nobody elected you? No invisible man gave you answers?”