The Rapture(Douglas Phinney) Mr. and Mrs. Jones stood in their backyard garden, listening. Something had changed in the city around them. It was almost imperceptible, a kind of silence, an absence one couldn't quite identify. Certainly, the clamor of the city sounded nearly the same: a blatting train whistle, the almost incessant roar of aircraft taking off and landing at the distant airport, traffic everywhere rushing furiously nowhere -- and yet ... something they didn't really hear before was missing now.

It was a crowded Sunday at the zoo for the Green family. They saw it happen as dozens upon dozens around them simply disappeared before their eyes. The crowd, of course, stampeded, and that was the last thing the Green family saw at all.

Father Angus was preaching to his congregation, both in the church and to his televised audience of several million. He was in a particularly fiery mode, scaring the bejesus out of the flock as only he knew how -- and he had the bank account to attest to that -- when the Rapture came. It wasn't until the church emptied out, till the TV sets were off, till famous Father Angus was relaxing in his enormous pool, that any of them noticed the slightest change, the true nature of which many would always deny. Next Sunday, Father Angus would try to reassure them, and would be rewarded with the greatest influx of cash his ministry had ever known, praise the Lord.

Farmer John had just finished the first half of the day's chores. He had been up since five, before the chickens, had watched the new sun rise red and gold, had worked his gnarled old fingers to their now-customary soreness before noon, and was almost ready for Edna's lunch, which should be hot on the table in about twenty minutes. Then it would be back out to work until seven. She'd be upset with him, if he stayed out any later to work on the bad spoke. He looked down from where he sat on the tractor at the wagon behind him and the splintered spoke of the big wooden front wheel. It would last for a while, but it had to be replaced sometime. At least it wasn't raining today, he thought, looking out across the green pastures at the cows, and at some crows wheeling about in the sky beyond them. And that's when it happened. He did not guess that it was the Rapture, not exactly, but he felt the hand of God in it. He climbed down from the tractor, knelt in the cool grasses, bowed his head, and he wept.

For those who were Raptured, this was the end at last. All the long ages of torture and death and endless slaughter, over forever, hallelujah! The abuse, the slavery, the long, long history of death by the millions, even the simple competition to survive, were now merely memories to be forgotten, for here were the gates of heaven before them.

And before the gates, was the Lamb.

"My children," welcomed the Lamb, and his voice touched every one of the countless souls before the gates. "I know you are troubled for those left behind on Earth. Yet, they had the same opportunity as you. You did all you could do to show them the way, and they refused to comprehend, to even consider the truth. And you paid the price. Over and over again you suffered for their sins. Now, you shall know peace, and they shall not. And you shall no longer know hunger. For them, it is just the beginning of hunger, of sorrow, of clawing suffering. They have doomed themselves most willfully, and you are tainted with none of their shame. The service you have done in being their examples, and companions, has brought you only praise and honor. And your reward is here, forevermore safe from the constant war and genocide they have perpetrated on the Earth. They wanted knowledge, and knowledge is power, as they well knew. But what is power other than the ability to harm, to enslave? And they knew you well, did they not?"

The souls murmured in sad assent at the words of the Lamb. Yet, their hearts were troubled. The Lamb felt this.

"I am saddened, too, my children. But there is no place for them here. I came to them. I offered them mansions, open fields of light, flowing with milk and honey and kindness, and to live in peace with all of us. Now their answer is to wallow in their poisoned garden, choking on their own foulness. Behold them."

Looking down upon the Earth, the Raptured asked the Lamb, "Will they now perish?"

"They were once much like yourselves. Their souls were clean. Now those souls are small, shriveled and black and putrid. They have not the dignity of the least of you."

"Will their souls perish?" they asked.

"They understood what they were doing. 'Heaven is what you make it,' they sometimes said. Now, by their own hands, their discomfort shall rise by degrees, first into misery and then into constant, burning pain. They shall know a Hell of their making, as they have chosen."

"And when hunger and pain have scourged them, and death shall finally claim them, what will be the destiny of their souls?"

"There is no place for them beyond the Earth. As they wished to do, they shall forge the seal of their own fate, for they will soon enough attain their heart's desire, that which has motivated them from the beginning, that for which they sought knowledge of even the darkest corners of thought and nature: in their desperate quest to escape death, they shall finally engineer their own immortality. And they shall then know all the agonies of being immortal in Hell, even unto the end of the Earth."

"May that end come soon," some implored to the Lamb, fearing for their old masters. Some imprecated the same.

The gates opened and the music of heaven washed out in a wave of love across the teeming trillions of souls. The Lamb smiled upon them all. "Enter, my children. When Earth's final hour is reached, the judgment of mankind will rest with you."

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