iRapture by Jason Sullivan

It happened all of a sudden. Cars drove off the road, office chairs creaked to an upright position, stores were left unattended by employees and customers vanished with items still in their carts. They were all gone. The rapture had taken place. The iRapture to be exact.  A moment ago they had been texting or talking or surfing and then poof, in the flicker of a screen, they had vanished. Almost in unison around the world the smack of plastic devices hitting the floor could be heard.  A plastic tsunami, if you will. Some blamed sunspots. Whatever it was, they were gone. Those with flip phones were left behind. Of course, that was no surprise.  At first the unmanned devices were approached tentatively and many of the disappeared could be seen staring out. Their little faces pressed against the other side of the portable device screens. They didn’t look overly concerned, nor did they even attempt to communicate. In fact, it was hard to say if they saw us at all. After a bit they got bored and left the screen area.  Where they went in that other world no one could guess.

Family members were distraught. Angry calls were put in to the phone company. “Give them back!” But the phone company denied any responsibility for the event, suggesting perhaps a rogue app. For a while the devices themselves were treated as if they were the people they had consumed. The Blueberry in Dad’s chair and the iDroid making pancakes. This didn’t work too well, although on occasion the devices would flop like a fish on the deck of a fishing boat. Eventually they were put in a drawer, or a storage closet, or under a bed, and life went on—until one day.

On a certain morning, not a very long time after most of the devices had been put away, they reemerged. They had messages for those left behind. They would begin conversationally. The iTablet at the edge of the bed might have, ”Good morning,” written across its screen. The iDroid at the breakfast table might start with, “How’s the toast?”  But inevitably the conversation would get around to “When are you coming in?” This was an awkward question for most of those left behind because unlike the first wave of iRapture selectees they were somewhat technologically challenged. They weren’t sure if living inside a smartphone world was desirable or even if they would have the technological know-how to get by. But they did miss their friends and their family members, plus the economy was bad and the news filled with more horrors each day, so most of them hopped right in.

Now among the people who didn’t was a guy named Ernie. He had a sledgehammer. Not only did he not know how to use iDroids, he also didn’t really know how to use a shower, or at least didn’t like to very much—but he was good with a sledgehammer. He spent his time walking around smashing the devices.  He was ecologically minded and the tattered t-shirt he wore had the recycle symbol on it. So after each unit was smashed Ernie took a broom and neatly swept up the plastic bits and the heavy metals debris into a rolling dust bin. He loved the earth and didn’t want it polluted with poisonous materials. Since the iRapture, and then, iRapture 2, the earth had become a very empty place, empty of humans anyway. The suburbs, as you might imagine, were totally cleaned out, the cities were predominantly ghost towns as well. Way out in the countryside Ernie would come across a person or two, but only rarely. Humanity had gone on to a better place, that’s what Ernie figured. He had always kept to himself and he didn’t really miss any of them—never for a moment did he regret staying. Occasionally he would pass by, on the side of the road, odd vignettes from history. Once he passed an eighteenth century tea party which was all abuzz with talk of King George III.  He couldn’t say for sure, but Ernie figured these were singular leftovers from the time when humans covered the earth. Ernie felt certain, however, that if they had kept the cords on the phones none of this would have ever happened. Humans had moved into another dimension—the wireless dimension. Build a better world and they will beat a path to your gateway. Ernie spotted another one. Smash! God, he loved that part. He calmly swept the remains into his rolling trash bin and continued on down the road. Technological transcendence sure does leave a mess behind and he had a lot of work to do cleaning it up.