Every time he closed his eyes the red hand (dark red, like velvet, almost black) came closer. (Crimson lightning flared around its edges.) He clutched his Bible, praying nightly for escape, until joy came with understanding: he'd seen the Hand of Rapture.
Then the Hand scooped him up, him and millions of others. As they moved swiftly across the face of the waters, he beheld a distant signpost, coming nearer. He strained to read the fiery words as they passed by, and understood them, though they were written for the eyes of the Creator:
"PLEASE PACK OUT YOUR TRASH."
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