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Poor Hugh
I’ve been trying to convince everyone that the world is ending but, like most disasters, the signs are there and no one is paying attention. From congressmen to news reporters, everyone I have told refuses to believe. A plague just started in South America and it should be worldwide within days. Still, they think it’s just a coincidence in light of what the world witnessed on television last month.
I had been struggling to hold a rope tethered to a thirty-two-foot-tall Santa as the wind battered it above Central Park. The balloon rolled and ripped the cable from my hands, colliding with my coworker, Hugh. His eyes were open and alert, but he was paralyzed. Then, his body slid across the blacktop. The cable he had been holding had wrapped around one of his legs and lifted him into the air.
“Santa’s Marching Band” started playing “Here Comes Santa Claus,” drowning out my screams. I looked around at the hundreds of workers, but everyone was either engrossed in their duties or peering down the street, where dozens of oversized balloons heralded Santa’s closing of the parade. Hugh’s body hovered twenty feet in the air for four blocks before anyone noticed.
Everyone thinks it’s a tragic story, but doesn’t see the connection to current events. A person named Hugh Mann dangling to death on the most watched holiday event celebrating the same religion that preached about humanity’s judgment and annihilation every Sunday. It would be funny if it wasn’t so on the nose.
A new report just came in that a Tsunami is headed for Southern California. Unprecedented, the news is calling it, even though there is a book that talks about wiping away humanity with a flood and starting over.
At this rate, the world will end by Christmas Day.
