Chapter 2
1237words
Rapture Day was more than halfway over, and surprise—nothing had happened. The sun still shone, birds still chirped in the trees, and the world looked boringly normal.
But for Aunt Margaret and her followers, the day was just getting started.
Jessica and I cruised past the Holy Light Gospel Church downtown, its parking lot jam-packed with vehicles. This was Aunt Margaret's church—a small congregation notorious for its doomsday predictions.
"Looks like they're still waiting for their miracle," Jessica said, pulling over across the street.
Through the church's windows, we could see about fifty people inside. They were dressed in their Sunday best, as if attending the wedding of the century. Some knelt in prayer, others raised their arms skyward, faces contorted with religious fervor.
"Is that your aunt?" Jessica pointed to a figure near the front.
I squinted. Yep, that was Aunt Margaret, decked out in a white dress with a small hat perched on her head, looking like she was about to participate in some sacred ritual. She was gesturing animatedly to the pastor, clutching a massive Bible.
"She looks… ecstatic," I said.
"Of course—she thinks she's meeting God today," Jessica sneered. "When she wakes up tomorrow still on Earth and flat broke, her face will be absolutely priceless."
Just then, my aunt approached the podium. She was about to address the congregation.
"Let's hear what she's got to say," I said, rolling down my window.
My aunt's voice drifted out, quivering with religious zeal:
"Brothers and sisters, today is the day chosen by the Lord! I am ready! I have given away all my earthly possessions, for in the Kingdom of Heaven, we shall want for nothing!"
The congregation responded with a chorus of "Amens."
"I pity those who will be left behind, especially my family. They chose sin and refused salvation. But when the Rapture comes, they will finally see their error!"
My fists clenched. Even in what she thought were her "final hours on Earth," she couldn't resist trashing us.
"Easy, Emy." Jessica squeezed my arm. "In a few hours, she'll get exactly what she deserves."
At 3 PM, we scoped out my aunt's neighborhood. It was a quiet, middle-class area with decent space between houses—perfect for our nighttime mission.
Aunt Margaret's place was a two-story white wooden house with a small front garden and a backyard surrounded by tall wooden fencing. Perfect privacy.
"We need to identify the optimal entry point," Jessica said, snapping photos with her phone, "and confirm no neighbors have sightlines into the backyard."
We circled the block, noting every detail—neighboring windows, streetlight coverage, potential security cameras.
"There," I pointed to a corner of the fence. "Loose board. That's our entry point."
"And it's perfectly positioned in the streetlight's blind spot," Jessica noted. "Perfect."
We also spotted a massive oak tree in the backyard, perfectly positioned between the house and fence. The ideal staging ground for our "ascension scene."
"Picture it," I said. "Rainbow clothes scattered under the tree, footprints trailing from the clothes up the trunk, as if someone literally ascended into the heavens."
"Poetic and dramatic," Jessica said appreciatively. "Your aunt will absolutely lose her mind."
At 4 PM, Mom called.
"Emily, family dinner's canceled tonight," she sounded exhausted.
"Why?"
"Margaret's spending the night at church waiting for the Rapture. And honestly, after everything that's happened, I just don't have the energy to cook."
I could hear the strain in her voice. "Mom, are you okay?"
"I don't know what to do, Emily. Margaret clearly needs professional help, but she won't listen to anyone. She's given away everything—her money, her car. What happens tomorrow when the Rapture doesn't come?"
"Mom, maybe this is exactly the wake-up call she needs."
"Emily!" Mom's voice sharpened. "She's family. No matter what she's done, we can't just watch her self-destruct."
"Then what do you suggest we do?"
Mom fell silent for a moment. "I don't know. I honestly don't know."
After hanging up, I felt a tangle of emotions. Part of me was thrilled about our revenge plan, but another part ached at the family fracture.
"You good?" Jessica asked, concerned.
"I'm fine. It's just… this is messier than I expected."
"Emy, remember what she put you through. All those nights you cried because of her. She deserves this reality check."
I nodded. Yes, she deserves it.
At 5 PM, driving back to the dorm, we stumbled upon a Pride month celebration.
Hundreds of people filled the downtown park, rainbow flags waving in the golden sunset. Music played, speakers rallied the crowd, and rainbow decorations brightened everything. A beautiful celebration of diversity and inclusion.
"Let's stop," I suggested.
We joined the crowd, soaking in the warm, accepting atmosphere. Rainbow colors dominated everything: flags, shirts, face paint, even dogs sporting rainbow bandanas.
"This is perfect," Jessica said excitedly. "Look at all this! If someone claims LGBT people were 'raptured,' this scene is the perfect supporting evidence."
Watching the joyful crowd around me, a bolder idea struck.
"Jess, what if we make this revenge more meaningful?"
"How so?"
"Instead of just fooling my aunt, what if we make the whole world talk about this? Imagine the impact on LGBT rights if 'Rainbow Rapture' becomes a global conversation?"
Jessica's eyes widened. "You mean… turn this prank into a social movement?"
"Why not? We've got perfect timing, perfect symbolism, perfect narrative. We can show the world that love and inclusion triumph over hatred and prejudice."
We stood under a massive rainbow flag as the sun set. This was evolving beyond personal revenge into something bigger—a statement for all marginalized LGBT people.
"We'll need more social accounts," Jessica started planning. "Wider distribution channels. Maybe even connect with actual LGBT organizations."
"Carefully though. They can't know it's staged."
"Of course. We're just… amplifying a theory that's already out there."
At 7 PM, we returned to our dorm for final preparations.
Jessica hunched over her laptop, creating more social accounts and preparing additional "evidence." She even designed professional-looking "theological analysis" infographics.
"Check this out," she showed me her screen. "'Biblical Basis for the Rainbow Rapture Theory.' I've quoted rainbow references from Genesis and descriptions of the chosen ones from Revelation."
I had to admire her creativity. "This looks incredibly legitimate."
"That's the point. In the information age, truth and fiction blur together. Make a story compelling enough, and people will believe almost anything."
Meanwhile, I worked on the physical evidence, strategically wrinkling the rainbow T-shirt to make it look worn and scuffing the sneakers with dirt for authenticity.
"Remember," Jessica said, "we're not just pulling a prank—we're creating a legend."
By 9 PM, everything was ready.
Rainbow clothing, flour, glitter, camera, flashlight, plus some inspired additions: rainbow-colored feathers ("angel feathers") and a small bottle of perfume ("heavenly fragrance").
"Final check—you absolutely sure about this?" Jessica asked one last time.
I thought about my aunt's zealous sermons, her disparagement of our family, all those painful memories.
But I also remembered the joyful faces at the Pride event, and all the LGBT teens still fighting for acceptance.
"I'm not just ready," I said, "I'm dying to do this."
The moon rose as darkness fell. Miles away in that church, Aunt Margaret and her followers were still waiting for their miracle.
What they didn't know was that the real miracle was about to happen in her own backyard.
A rainbow-colored miracle that would blow her sanctimonious mind.
