Come In, Patmos

A revelation from the wrong end of the radio dial. A short story.

If I hadn’t come down with the flu, I never would’ve found out I was the Antichrist.

But there I was—puking, sweating, and broke—waiting four hours at a free clinic sandwiched between a guy coughing up blood and a woman reading a conspiracy blog out loud. I was between radio gigs again, which meant no insurance, no backup plan, and no wifi.

Radio jobs had dried up faster than my throat after a Sunday shift. Stations were getting swallowed by hedge funds or replaced by automation, or they just went dark. Every week, someone I knew was replaced by an AI. Everyone listened to podcasts or streamed music anyway. Didn’t matter.

So yeah, I was miserable. But I wasn’t evil.

Or so I thought.