Reverend Chad

Reverend Chad jerked awake; the sound of his cell phone ringing had snapped him back to reality.

“Another soul needin’ to be saved,” he muttered as he checked the number in a vain attempt to see if it was another repeat caller.

“Unknown number, eh?” he said, rubbing his eyes and answering the call.  “Thank you for calling Reverend Chad’s Pra-.”

“Are you a Holy Man?” a man on the other end asked.  His tone was strict, with a slight hint of enjoyment.

“I beg your pardon?” Chad stammered, no longer sure he was awake.

“You heard me.  Are.  You.  A Holy Man?” the man stated in a demanding tone.

“Yessir, I am.  How may I help you this fine morning?”

“I want you to say a prayer.”

“A prayer?  What’s your name young man?  Who would you like for me to say this prayer for?  Your mother, your father?  I can see troubled times.”  The reverend reached for a pad of paper.

“Not for me.  For you.  Your family.  The whole world.”

“That’s very kind of you.  I will keep you and the whole world in my prayers today.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, sir.  What?”

“Not me.  Just, well, just the whole world.  They’re going to need it.  The apocalypse is coming, and you are the one, prophet—as you claim to be—to warn everyone.”

With that, the man hung up.  The reverend scratched his head in confusion.

“Who was it honey?” his wife asked, rolling over and placing her hand on his shoulder.

“A man, asking for me to pray,” he responded, flopping back onto his pillow.

“Isn’t that why you set up that prayer hotline?” she asked, rubbing his arm.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just tired.  It’s nothing.  Let’s get some rest.  We’ve got a big sermon tomorrow,” said Chad as he curled back up in bed.

***

Weeks passed, and the odd phone call was wearing on his mind.  He kept thinking that he had to tell someone, so he finally told his wife.

She laughed at him.

“I don’t know what kind of cuckoos you have on your line, but we both agreed when we started this thing that you wouldn’t let anything anyone said get to you,” she said, shaking her head.  “Now get ready, the storm’s headed this way.”

For the past week, bad weather had been ravaging the northern hemisphere.  Hurricanes, tornados, droughts, and floods.

Chad stepped outside, to check on his chickens.  As soon as he left his door, the tornado sirens went off.  Through the chaos of flapping chickens and thunderclaps, he was able to make out a huge tornado churning off in the distance, and headed his way.

His wife came out, screaming at him to get to the tornado shelter.

But he couldn’t hear here.

All the noise that was around him consumed her voice, and spat it out as nothing toward him.  The only sounds left were the swirling winds, slapping rain, loud sirens and houses being destroyed.

Chad could hear less than that, even.

He, a man who felt he had been disobedient to what the messenger had wanted him to do, could only hear the sounds of the tornado sirens.

To him, they sounded a lot like trumpets.