aumsworld

My Apocalyptic Speech

The speaker struts onstage. Her head is held high, her lips pursed, her back straight; the aura that surrounds her is that of outraged dignity. She is dressed in austere black clothing that does not go without evoking a nun’s costume, and her hair is pulled up in a bun so tight it yanks at her taut eyebrows. Staring straight ahead of her, heedless of her surroundings, she walks halfway across the stage, before deigning to give the assembly a first look - or, should I say, first glare: a mere flash of dark eyes filled with contempt and disgust. There is an uneasy silence as the people, intimidated by her countenance, abandon their light-hearted chatter and gradually turn their attention to the oratory pulpit. The speaker climbs on the platform. She deposits her books on the floor, resettles her glasses on her nose, tests her microphone. Clears her throat.
Hush.
She glares once again at the crowd, before beginning her speech.

Brothers and sisters! Saints, parishioners, and all of you, my beloved fellow sinners!
The crowd shifts uneasily at the word “beloved.”
I have summoned you here to converse with you of this oh-so-important matter that is, in the back of my mind, as strong, as relentless, as obsessive as it is, I’m sure
peers severely over iron-rimmed glasses
in your own filthy, corrupted souls. The end of the world, brothers and sisters! I am speaking of the end of the world: la Fin du Monde, y Armageddon, the Y2K bug, or whatever you call it in your current name fad. The end of the world!
Someone in the assembly calls out. The speaker leans forward: What? The Y2K bug is over? Oh. Okay. Never mind, then. She coughs, clearly embarrassed, before resuming.
What was I saying? Oh, yes. The end of the world. Our final times are drawing near, brothers and sisters, they are drawing nearer and nearer everyday. And soon will come a time of horror: and the skies will rain acid, and the seas will turn black with dried blood, and the wrath of God shall fall and strike you with the righteousness of Heaven!
You may think I am overreacting.
General nod in the assembly.
I am not. In fact, all these events I speak of have already happened. How do you call the carbon hydroxide that falls upon our heads every year along with the May-showers, if not acid? The manure you swim in when taking a dip in the ocean, if not blood? The impending menace of atomic warfare? The wrath of God is upon us, brothers and sisters, it is upon us.
There is a rousing in the crowd. The speaker smiles.
I see you stir. No, I have not forgotten to mention the Seven Deadly Sins, who are, of course, the first of your concerns. I was getting there, my dear fellow sinners, I was getting there. The Seven Deadly Sins are rampant in our world. They are here - they are everywhere - they are among you!
The members of the crowd, clearly impressed, give their neighbours a suspicious glance.
Take Greed, for example.
The speaker settles her spectacles firmly on the tip of her nose, and snaps at imaginary suspender straps.
That old romantic is still swooning over his beloved Wealth, and he will go to any lengths - and I mean, any lengths - to win the fickle lady’s unpredictable favours. Gambling - multinational companies - CEO salaries - those are all his ideas, brothers and sisters, his perverted efforts to seduce his beloved! Bah, humbug! you tell me. But he is here. He is everywhere. Just go to your local bank store. Whom do you think is the demon sitting behind the listing office, sipping coffee over the business section of the newspaper?
And I do not mention Lust.
The speaker throws back her head and licks her lips, her hands resting suggestively upon the breast of her stiff black robe. Someone in the crowd shouts: “Hey, hot stuff, baby!” but she ignores him.
Lust, brothers and sisters, Lust. The incurable fetishist. Recently, tired of being enshrouded in veils, corsets, petticoats, and who knows what else - and no, I’m not peeking - she decided to come out in the open. What? Am I seeing surprise? Whom do you think you’re seeing when you turn on the TV? It’s Lust, brothers and sisters, Lust. You may not recognize her, but why else do you think she dyed her hair blonde, pierced her navel, and replaced her cup of fresh blood by a can of Pepsi?
As for Envy, well - for whom do you think they invented brand names? For her and for Pride, of course - those two, ever the best of friends. And come on, must I go into the damage Wrath is currently causing in Afghanistan, and Sloth in North American high schools? You all follow the televised news reports. The only Sin you currently needn’t worry about is Gluttony: she’s too busy stuffing herself with McDonald’s food to be of any danger to anyone else. But that nevertheless leaves six of the Sins free to roam in the world - and find refuge in your very own hearts!
A shocked murmur runs through the assembly. The speaker grins blissfully, in prophetic heaven.
So what’s the point of all this, brothers and sisters? The point is that we are living our very last days. Soon, the time will come when the Sins will have invaded every moment of our personal lives, tortured and distorted our daily routine, darkened and spoiled our corrupted hearts! And then, my dear fellow sinners, and then, God’s retribution shall fall upon us. The skies shall rain endless blood in a deluge of drowning crimson - he seas shall turn black with the corruption of man - the bolts of God’s anger shall strike you and with their justice turn your souls to ash. Repent, brothers and sisters, repent! It is not too late! Confess your sins, flagellate yourself with the whips of your own self-condemnation, scream out to God for forgiveness -
The speaker pauses, breathless, panting, her face glistening with sweat. There is an uncertain silence; and then, applause erupts through the assembly.
Thank you.
The speaker salutes the audience, and then turns her back to the audience and disappears behind the lowering curtain; not fast enough, however, to prevent some of the assembly’s most observant members to notice something peeking out from the back of her skirt…
A forked tail?
Hmm…
She’d obviously forgotten to mention the Sin of Paranoia.

- Aum



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