Mar 15, 2019
Prophecy Three Hundred and Two
by D.K. Spencer
Purple lightning illuminates the dark and foreboding sky with zig-zag precision, while cumulonimbus clouds billow high against the full moon of the equinox.
The world is ending just like they said it would. Just like they promised.
As we gather round the mount, an old, white bearded man reads from his stone tablet to our huddled masses.
“God is not happy,” he says. “God has come!” Torrents of rain come down, and the ground shakes violently. We run for cover hoping it will quickly end.
Three-hundred-two prophecies later, we’re thinking, “Not this crap again?”
Two-thousand-two-hundred years later, we’re still here.