I'm bad at this, but I'll try:

“You’ll hear from my lawyer about this! This is outrageous!” I screamed as my hands failed miserably, attempting to dislodge the shackles of lies. The man in a white robe let out a sigh as he pulled tighter, threatening to suffocate me in my seat. This was my worst nightmare.

“John, John keep it down there, relax man.” Father Botham yelled from the back of the capsule. It was a persecution, a witchhunt! We, the kind folks of truth were being silenced and thrown into space for speaking these words of life. I must try and save another, I really-

Yank

Glaring at the back of the my torturer I looked around me. This must be the end. Father Botham used to exhort us to live our lives knowing the truth, speaking to others though they may wave fancy charts and doctored photographs from space. “Round” they would say, wagging tongues like dogs eager to please the Evil One.

“Spherical, dude, you’re high or something?” others might say. Oh for the love of all things true this is the end for us all. We, the last hope for scientific enlightenment, we, the persecuted race.

“At least they’ll know we’re right, John.” Missy elucidated with an airy wave of her hands.

“Est Magnus Ive”

I chanted as the craft roared with indignation, seemingly fearful of facing the truth. “Omnia Plana!” I screamed as the capsule trembled at the impending revelation. Soon I lost consciousness as their wicked machinery construed invisible rays and forced me into slumber, interrupting my vigil.

“It cannot be!”

I woke as screams filled the capsule. My legs swung around without effort as the craft rotated to face the beautiful blue plane. “Oh my Ive, it’s so flat from up here!” Missy exclaimed.

Father Botham smiled to the 20 of us, the last faithful flock of Flat-ers. “As I foretold, we were, and always will be, right. Our prophet, Ive, His Flatness, fortold this Day of Revelation, Mortem Skeuomorphism , when all things will be flat, and when all seen will be flat, the true flat earth!”

I turned to Missy as her excitement, an assorted blob of half-digested organic broccoli swung past me. “Omnia Plana, Missy von Flat.” Soon the rest will know, that the earth is indeed flat, a most spherical disk indeed.