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Buchman Bookworks, Inc.

Pop-Up Apocalypse

Pop-Up Apocalypse

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A Passover Seder dinner includes a lot of blessing of the wine...and drinking it.

After a heavenly Seder, Michelle (the Devil Incarnate), St. Peter, and other companions fall into an after dinner debate of how to properly run an apocalypse.

What could possibly go wrong when a stream-of-consciousness angel with a severe case of wine-induced hiccups takes control of the Software that Runs the Universe?

Read an Excerpt

This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang but a whimper.
-T.S. Eliot
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“Yeah, right,” Michelle scoffed.
In her current state—Passover Seders tended to include drinking a lot of wine—she wasn’t quite sure why Peter was quoting T.S. Eliot, but he had.
“Poets really don’t have it together. Not even the good ones. He should have stuck with poems about cats.” Michelle propped her feet up on the arm of St. Peter’s Adirondack chair. It always made him squirm a bit. Just one of the perks of being the Devil Incarnate.
The group of them had retired—perhaps retreated was a better word—from the Passover Seder dining table to lounge on one of the nicest back decks in Heaven. Peter had set an equally lavish dessert table out here beneath the eternal shine of the Vaults of Heaven. Most had collapsed back from that as well.
“If he’d done a series about dogs instead of writing about an apocalypse he couldn’t possibly understand, there could have been a second Broadway smash called Dogs.” She sighed. “And a second movie that was even worse than the first.” Two hours of her fourteen-billion-year experience she’d never get back.She could go ask him, but like most poets, he hadn’t realized he was dead yet, which Michelle found intensely annoying to wrangle with.
“Are you suggesting that you know what the apocalypse will be?” St. Peter made shooing motions at her feet, but it wasn’t working. Maybe because she was wearing sandals not shoes. No one laughed at her pun. Not them, because she hadn’t said it aloud. Not her, because whatever it was had already slipped her mind.
Michelle shook her head. She had no idea—about her sandals or the nature of the apocalypse.
“It ends by—”
“No!” She cut off The Buddha. “Don’t tell us. You always spoil the fun.”

Publication Details

Initial Publication: Boundary Shock Quarterly #7, "Apocalypse Descending" 2019
Edit / Re-release: September 1, 2025
Print pages: 72

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