"Wait!" I screamed to Her, clamping my hands over my ears to shut out the tornado siren. "I know this is the end, I know I deserve this, but why is it happening all out of order? Where are War and Death? What happened to(more) The Seven Seals? Why are the Trumpets sounding already?"
Her voice in my head drowned the siren.
I follow the outline.
"But I didn't outline this!"
She stands still, as the wind begins to whip and shriek around the corners of the trailer we're in. The women and children and the table they were seated at vanish, a bare bulb swings from the low slung ceiling, and a figure beginss to materialize below it. Multiple figures. A crowd of people and creatures.
Hail slams the tin roof. The flimsy door flies wide open, and pixilated red rain pounds the ground. Fire erupts in the sky, arcing between the sickly, green tinted clouds.
"Who are they?" I shout at Her, pointing toward the figures gaining weight and substance before my eyes.
Your friends. Your creations. Souls you've led to this path. They didn't deserve this, but now there is no choice. They must suffer with you.
"Why? Who am I to have this sort of control over anything?" The siren has gotten louder, and my words are lost to me, but not to Her. She answers.
"The Whore of Babylon."
"That's just a symbol for Rome!"
Not in this story, dear one.
"I can't do this anymore. You can't hurt them. I won't allow it. I can write you out. God can write you out!"
This is a Sunday morning's diversion for God. She doesn't care. She probably hasn't even read this version.
I turn away, defeated. I recognize the figures.(less)