Icarus's blog: "Augurs, Martyrs, and Agnostics"

The moment was pure.
Like sheets of linen laid between maiden and ecstasy.

No word was uttered.
No clattering, or rending of garments.
No thuds as knees fell to granite.

It was there.
It was not.

Then the terrifying stillness came.

The colors rained down a trickle.
Sharp ran dull.

And the terrifying stillness came.

There was no choir
no blast of the herald call
no golden escalator ride on high oxygen and silky clouds of pastry.

He was there.
He is not.