At the writers' group a woman named Jessica mentioned an interest in religion. This sparked an image in my mind, and as I haven't written any fiction here in some time, I thought I would allow myself the opportunity to flow and see what happened.
The priest leaned forward and whispered in Carson's ear: "God's coming for you."
Carson stirred, eyes flickering open to stare into the darkness. He tried to sit up, but didn't have the strength. The priest, a solidly built man with large calloused hands, leaned closer so that Carson could smell his breath.
"God will be here any minute now. Can you feel it?"
Carson inhaled. It was unsatisfying. He tried inhaling more deeply, the effort feeling false. Pointless. He settled on shorter breaths, listening to the wheezing within his chest.
The priest smiled. "You don't remember Him, do you? That's what's scaring the hell out of you. You don't remember."
Carson shook his head from side to side.
The priest stepped back, nervously glancing toward the window. "I have to go. I don't want to be here when He arrives. I'll come back when it's all done. When it's over. I'll tell people you received last rites. They'll cry for you. A couple years from now someone may even remember your name."
Carson strained to say something. The priest waited. Carson strained again, this time his voice coming out in a low growl. "Don't go. Don't..."
"It wouldn't matter if I stayed. You know that."
The priest paused on his way out the door. "Do you want to know a secret?" he asked.
Carson stopped breathing.
"It's sort of my confession."
The priest waited. Nodding to himself, he whispered: "Yeah, that's what happens. That's what always happens."