The Rapture

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RAPTURE

A feeling of intense pleasure or joy.

Synonyms: ecstasy, bliss, euphoria, elation, enchantment, delight, happiness...wrong

New York City

12/17/3021

11:05 PM

  Glass bottles broke, the sound of sharp little pearls skittering across the pavement. Voices...laughing, almost drunken laughter, every one of them. I turn away from my window, put right above the dark, inhabited alleyway. I stand and fumble in the blackness for my earplugs. Every night I have prayed that I would not need them, and every night I have needed them more. Since the sounds of laughter and death mixed together, parties in every house, windows lit the entire night, the irrational fear of the sound of happiness.

  I was not fooled by them. I was not among those with fishhooks in the corners of their mouths, holding their faces in a grin. The small patches of hair ripped away in the shape of a square on almost every arm, did not mark me. I resisted the temptation, the need for happiness in a world so broken. I did not listen to the alluring speech of my old friends, telling me that it wasn't bad, that I didn't need to be so afraid. But I had learned to trust my instinct. I didn't ever enjoy riding the false wave of adrenaline, I let it settle and form in my stomach. I let it teach me that instead of waves of euphoria, it came in knots and bricks and fire within your stomach. That's why I never rode roller coasters, I trusted my body when it signaled red. Now I am among the few of those with our sanity still clinging to its rope.

  How hard it was to walk past the colorful posters. Put up to promote the new craze of the century. No more sadness, no more fake smiles, no more tears, no more nostalgia, and no more sleep. It has been a year since they were stapled to the street posts. Eleven months since it was proved legal and safe. Ten months since the ads featured the new drugs publically on the market. Nine since it was promoted on television health shows as the new miracle sticker. Eight since it was mass produced and exported. Seven since it was doubted. Six since it was defended. Five since it crowned the US king in the eyes of opposing countries. Four since it stopped the war. Three since it healed the suicidal. Two since it saved the world, and one month, since the small patch entitled Rapture, destroyed it.

  The crashing continued, muffled through the orange foam plugs stuffed in my ears. I grumble and shift again, pulling the blankets up and over my ears. It did nothing. I could do nothing. It is frustrating...doing nothing. Being unable to change what has already been changed. Having to go through life staring at the happy faces and getting less pay than the ones that used Rapture, being unable to do 48-hour shifts. Then getting shunned by those I consider close to me, for being unable to join them on their late night escapades for lack of my needed bodily function, sleep. Now considered unnecessary and boring to those around me, as easily forgotten a function as making your bed.

  I had almost been persuaded, three months ago, when it stopped my close relative from taking the jump. I had almost given in, how terrifying is that thought. That I might have been among the ones below my window. Then, things started to change. The US was at the height of its fame. Renowned for its work of genius, the ability to live dreams with no fatigue. Then came the small blip, an almost unnoticed change in the corner of the radar. Only one scientist honing in on that small blinking dot. He studied that fluctuation for weeks, watching as it grew steadily larger. By the time he had picked up the phone to the White House with the alarming news, it was too late. The blip had grown to a distant siren, and the only thing this scientist could provide was an explanation.

  This is what was plastered across every TV in the country, scrolling across in every news alert. The warning mixed with the apology, the message to those who resisted the pull of the Rapture. Telling them to pack up, distance themselves from those already affected, and find somewhere safe. The Rapture was here, that is what you heard in the streets, what was whispered over coffee tables and spoken over phone conversations in fearful, hushed tones. In exactly one month since that first news report, those that never slept, never cried, never frowned, and never lied, would become mindless creatures of feeling and emotions, yet immune to empathy of any form. This would last for as long as the person took the Rapture in the first place, symptoms peaking in the midpoint of their designated time, and if they stopped...then they would also face withdrawal. This meant almost unavoidable death. 

  The drug didn't kill them, they killed themselves. All of the fatigue, all of the pent up anger and sadness, all of the feeling that was pushed aside would come back in a flood of hormones and chemicals that the Rapture had locked away in the deep recesses of their body. Nothing could change what transpired inside the minds of those that stopped. Nothing could describe that anguish. 

  Now I am the one with the fake smiles, tears, nostalgia, and sadness. The one thing I could never get back was the sleep, all I could see when I closed my eyes was images of bodies lying broken beneath the bridges, blood seeping from under public bathroom stalls. The people in the beginning stages of their withdrawal, walking through the sticky pool of red, empathy for the person that died never crossing their faces, and paying no mind to the obvious fate of themselves in the near future. Now it is close to the peak for most people, the time when they will ravage and rampage through the symptoms. The breaking of glass and the thump of those passed out from the sudden wave of fatigue washing over them.

  But the worst part of this is, that there is no escaping, no way to stop the vicious cycle. Those that stop taking, end up dead by their own hands, and those that still take, go through the mindless stage for a year, and then go right back into another year of bliss, then...repeat.

  Mindless...how mindless are they. I almost gave in, I almost became one of them. I almos..Wait...no. I forgot. I forgot...again. That sunny day by the pool, I fell asleep. Water woke me. Five months before the end of their minds. Sputtering I came up, trying to stay afloat for hours in a pool of liquid that I cannot inhale. Wait..no...wrong again. I was swimming...doing backflips underwater and then...where was I? Right...I remember. A cloudy day...staring into a puddle, looking at the reflection of the sun...yes that's it. A stranger walks past, calling out my name. I run to embrace them and...Oh. I'm sorry. I don't know what is wrong with my mind. I seem to be unable to think straight, I must be tired. Am I tired? Am I..*yawn*. Maybe..no...no I never have been. Not since the familiar stranger walked up and placed their hand on my shoulder. My arm. My neck. I...I..I can't remember. I saw the purple patch on my skin, it wasn't there before...but it was..it was always there. They gave it to me. I laughed when they stuck it to my skin, cold and clingy. I remember the feeling. I laughed for hours an...wait no, I wasn't laughing. No..I was screaming. I was screaming at them! They put it on me. They made me laug...oh wait I was laughing. After screaming I forgot why I was angry...both me and the stranger laughed. Oh silly me...how did I forget that? I am just starting. Just starting to remember. To remember what it felt like to be angry, remember what it felt like not to feel, not to be strung on the fish hooks. I...I..I am below my window. In two months I will be below my window. Two months...just two months until I need sleep. I wonder. Is my arm...no..nO...NOOOO! WHERE IS IT, WHERE IS MY PATCH?! My beloved patch, my beloved purple stranger, the gift from my familiar family!! No...no...no..no. 

  Why is there liquid on my face? It is warm, it is running from my eyes...what is it? Why is the window open? It wasn't open before. NO...do not go out there. It is cold. I can almost feel the hooks take hold. *Yawn* I could just sleep. Ah, sleep. Just one step and no more liquid on my face, no more ghost hooks pulling at my arms. Why is the pavement getting closer? Wh...ouch. Ow. It hurts, it all hurts. I can't move. Things are blurring, I see little pieces of gold...no...glass. Little pieces of broken glass. In their reflection, I see above me, my open window, and curled up next to the shard, is a small purple patch. Slowly I try to reach for it. One more time. One last smile. I just need one last smi....Why is everything red...wait, no...mistaken again...it is black. It's all purple and black. I missed the Rapture..I. just. missed. the. Rapture. 

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