Читать книгу Scar Tissue - Narrelle M Harris - Страница 11

When the Rapture came, only Henry Smithfield noticed. Everyone else was too busy just living their flawed lives.

Henry, a paragon of virtue in a tarnished world, heard trumpets and looked to the sky as he walked past the Federal Court of Australia on La Trobe Street. To his left was the court building, all imposing glass and concrete with its brightly coloured entryway, and the rather less glamorous concrete fountain. Over the road to the right was Flagstaff Gardens, filled with morning joggers, tai chi classes, city dwellers taking their city dogs for a run on the green.

To tell the truth, Henry was a bit smug that he was the only one to notice the call of the angelic host. He thought it more than a little ironic, too, that the call had come while he was part way between the halls of justice on one side and a former cemetery on the other. The final judgement was coming at just the right place.

Henry stood on the edge of the non-functioning fountain (nobody seemed to have cared enough to turn it back on again after the easing of a decade of water restrictions) and held his hands to the sky. Waiting.

The heavenly host played a few more notes, allowing stragglers to catch up. But no-one else heard. No-one else stopped to look towards the heavens. Well, one or two people, but they were checking for potential rainclouds. In Melbourne, you could never entirely trust the forecast.

A few people cast a curious glance at Henry, but the daft bugger in his jeans, hoodie and dark sneakers looked more beatific than dangerous. Perhaps his case had been found in his favour. One jogger gave him two thumbs up and a congratulatory grin.

The heavenly host gave a little sigh, looked at their sole audience member, shrugged and figured that maybe Facebook hadn’t really been the best way to send invitations to this particular party. Still, there was no need to blame Henry the Pure for being the only one with manners enough to notice the call.

With a beat of their wings, the host created one hell of a downdraft, which collected Henry and then drew him up.

It was startling at first. Henry kicked his feet, trying instinctively to stand on solid ground. His shoes fell into the puddle of water lying on the base of the defunct fountain. He waggled his socked feet, then decided it was quite pleasant, this flying business. Grinning, he let himself be lifted.

Nobody noticed.

Henry got to heaven and found himself the sole occupant of a significantly more dull than expected paradise.

The remaining inhabitants of the Earth didn’t notice that Judgement Day had been and gone. They each went on being the embodiment of good and evil, heaven and hell, god and the devil, in their own personal way, as they’d done ever since they’d been given the gift of choice.

Only one person ever missed Henry. Daisy had loved her brother but frankly found him so impossibly perfect that she felt inadequate. Away from his oppressive saintliness, Daisy felt she wasn’t such a bad old stick. She was kind to animals and the elderly and bought The Big Issue. She was good and supportive friend, and though not perfect, she made an effort to be kind. If heaven had been less rigid in its spiritual dress code, she might have heard the call.

But rigid it was, and most people are flawed, and really, the vagaries of heaven and hell had never really had that much impact on daily life on Earth, the in-between place where devils and angels were part of the same clay that made everyone else.

In the end, the heavenly host withdrew entirely from earthly affairs, and valiantly tried to hide their disappointment from Henry that Judgement Day had been such a fizzer. Words were definitely going to be had with the marketing people.

And the world? It went on, being good, bad and indifferent, depending on the predilections of its individual inhabitants, as it always had.