GENE NEILL

The oldest and most extensive international prison ministry in the world.

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THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS!
Copyright 1999 - The Voice of Triumph, Inc.

PREFACE

Most maps don't even show the tiny island of Patmos.

Lost in a maze of a thousand other little chunks of rock and sand, Patmos is just one more of the quiet whitewashed Greek islands jutting abruptly out of the Aegean Sea. Immutable. Enchanted. A cobblestone never-never land. Inhabited only by a handful of fishermen and donkeys, she is lost in her own haunting world of obscurity and antiquity.

In an age long forgotten, a wise old fisherman named John trod the wave-torn beaches there, his snow white hair flowing in the gentle sea breeze. Deeply tanned and squinting out under the blazing Mediterranean sun to the southeast, beyond the endless horizon and infinite years, he occasionally smiled a tear of joy in his bright old eyes. A tear for the good times and dear friends long gone.

History books record him only briefly.

He was the closest friend of a man they once called Jesus of Nazareth.

John wrote his book there on Patmos almost two thousand years ago, but he never gave it a title. The revered scholars of yore dramatically named it THE REVELATION OF JESUS CHRIST TO ST. JOHN THE DIVINE.

Every single word of John's REVELATION - and of this book which you are about to read - is absolutely true. Whether you believe it or not is immaterial. But whether you are going to be one of the few who live through it is quite another question.

But John was long ago and far away, and time has now forged its relentless path through the centuries.

Today it is the year 2070.

We are in the city of Los Angeles, California.

"Spring" is what we once called this season. A time when flowers and love bloomed. But today a cataclysmic silence cries out its final death gasp across this once throbbing city. There is no sound save that of occasional gunfire. Dead vines blanket the freeways where once behemoth tractor-trailer rigs belched forth their ghastly pall of black, and millions of mindless commuters roared their senseless ways to nowhere. A society where fornication and homosexuality were subsidized by the government, but where it was illegal for school children to pray.

And around the world the scene is the same.

Mexico City, once the largest megalopolis on earth, is today claimed only by what few vultures and rats are left.

There is no London. No Paris. Only dark funeral requiems of terror and agony. Dirges of a society which long ago turned its back on God.

Today the seas are dead; the trees and grass are burned; the stars are gone; and blackened skies hang like death shrouds over empty cities.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse have ridden their ghastly ride !

No amount of gold will buy a loaf of bread, and ravenous packs of starving psychotics cannibalize what little is left of the world.

The rhinestone televangelists and carnival faith healers prattle now only in the darkness of their unmarked graves. And the humanistic priests and pastors - those false shepherds who slept while their flocks wandered and perished - preach their silent sermons only in the halls of impious Death. The few true Christians left on earth have hidden securely together in little groups high up in the mountains and on remote islands of the sea. Self-sustaining, at peace, away from all else.

Life on earth, as it was once known, has only seven more months to live....

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