I know, but there is nothing I can do as the wail of sirens pierce the air. The air that has become thick with my now silent screams, the viscous blood running down the sides of my face blocking the noise. I can do nothing but fall to my knees on the wet wood of the church floor as I bleed in front of the Angel. Is this what we consider Holy? Is this what we have spent so much time trying to find? What we hope and pray to see when we die? Not me. Not now. My life changed when I heard those three words, and never again shall I search for what they mean.
