Countdown to Life

 

Julie felt the usual narrow, darkness inside her mind as the door opened within it. A voice came out of the dark door that said, “Hour check. Get ready my bright girl?” Julie blinked and the door closed without a sound. Visions of valor filled her mind along with the Maker’s words. With deft fingers, she groped into her purse to feel the metal gun kept in the ready. Then closing her purse, she smiled at her charges through the mirror. She was a good bus driver, all the children called her Ms. Julie. “Hi Ms. Julie,” they would shout as they climbed onto the bus. “Good morning,” she would say calling them by name. Have a nice day, she would say to them as they rose and stepped down from the bus, headed for class. Have a very nice day. Many would turn and wave back at her sitting in the bus.

 

          Ralph drove the huge Simi-trailer, painted white with a black soda-pop logo painted on its side, with expert care over the high mountain pass. He was driving through Tennessee on I-75 when his mind opened like a door. “Hour check. Are you ready my brave one.” To Ralph’s annoyance, he had to wait until he drove around the next wide curve onto the straight section of highway before he could reach down below the dash to feel the switch for the bomb. A simple push of the button would explode the back of the Simi into such a fire ball as the U.S. had never seen on its own shores.

 

          Joe greeted Mr. Jones as he stepped into the elevator. “Which floor, Mr. Jones?” “Eight, thank you.” Just then the door opened in Joe’s mind and his Maker said, “Hour check. Be ready.” When the door closed, Joe thought it an omen that his mental door and the elevator door closed at the same time. As soon as the door closed, he felt the flask of virus he carried in a small, brown leather pouch, at the ready. All he needed do when the count came down was to open up the red rubber stopper and his job would be complete.

 

          Thousands of people worked and waited, ready to obey the Maker who could speak into their minds. They waited for the countdown. One day, on the morning of the second Tuesday in the month of March, it came. Suddenly the dark door opened simultaneously in a thousand minds. The voice they so dearly loved whispered into each of their minds, “It is time. Connect on the count of one.” There was a slight pause then, the Maker said, “Ten.”

 

          Billy touched the long switchblade case in his pocket while he waited on Mrs. White to set her groceries down on the rolling black counter. The cashier began sending the groceries down for Billy to bag. The door in his mind opened and Maker said, “Nine.” Billy snapped open the leather case and took a firm grip on the knife while still in his pocket. “Don’t forget your potatoes” He said to Mrs. White as he handed her the last bag groceries with his free hand.

 

          Joan was putting bright pink lipstick on in the bathroom to freshen up before lunch. As she smeared it on her top lip, the word came, “Eight.” Joan hurriedly completed putting the pink lipstick on her bottom lip. Then she felt into her purse for the perfume bottle with the virus. All she needed to do when she heard the Maker complete the count, to one was send three swift puffs out in the department she happened to be working in that day. She was only a fill-in, but the department would be crowded no matter where she was sent because, as she often bragged to her friends, “I work in the largest department store in New York City.”

 

          Jerald looked over at his partner who was climbing the scaffolding in front of him. When the voice of the Maker said “Seven,” he had just enough time to grab his lunch box that held the small bomb. He wiped sweat off his brow as he carried it, quickly but carefully because it was dangerous and heavy, to the scaffolding and climbed on behind his partner. His button was on the handle so he needed to keep it close by as he rose into the sky. Maker had told him that from such a height, even a small bomb would have great effect.

 

          The city bus was crowded during this morning rush, but that didn’t deter Helen from opening up her briefcase after finding a bench in the terminal to sit down on. The man next to her was reading the newspaper when she put her hand on the gun. She felt the cold metal against her soft skin and shuddered at what she was about to do in five seconds. She had already heard the word “Six,” from the opened door that her God and Maker used for communication.

 

          At the count of “five” from the one who called itself, Maker, a group of angels called on the power of God. As a start, they gathered up 234 people who happened to be meditating at the time into a quick circle of mind-gathering. They requested that each one call another person to prayer and that person call another until people in prayer covered the globe of earth. Because mind power works as quick as a thought, soon many thousands of people were saying prayers. All the prayers built up light energy from God upon the earth. All the light that built up from the real maker of the world expanded into a huge ball of simi-invisible energy that sparkled and screamed like thunder clouds gathering in the sky.   

On the count of  Four” Ralph reached below his dash so he could keep his index finger close to the bomb switch as he drove.

          On the count of “Three” the angels instructed, “Send the light to there.” And showed a mental image of where the light needed to go. It went there instantly.

          On the count of “Two” Julie pulled the bus over to the curb and took the gun out of her purse and stood with it pointed towards the sweet and lovable kindergarten children, who now sat and watched her with big eyes, no longer smiling. 

          On the count of…a ball of light, shaped like a heavy tear drop, fell on top of the thing that labeled itself Maker. It splattered and blinded its dark mind with a sudden tear of liquid light energy that filled its nostrils, ran the route up its sinuses and splashed into its brain. Blinded by the light, Maker’s count ran silent and did not complete.

          When the count did not complete, Joe slid his knife back into his pants pocket. Julie put the gun away and started up the school bus. Ralph sat up straight in the huge Simi, Joe put the flask back into its hiding place and didn’t release the stopper. Helen closed her purse again, and all the thousands of people who had been set to add chaos and destruction  to the world at the count of “one”, didn’t.

 

The End