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“ I can’t hold it in any longer,” one of the men says, then before he cans find a discreet area, he vomits his life all over creation. A domino effect takes place as the other men and several women spew their lives all over the ground and sink down amid the slop.
The men attempt to pick the chunks of devastation from their beards and the women take scarves and half-heartedly mop up the piles of unbelief. Embarrassment is not an issue; bewilderment is.
“ How can it be?” “Was it all a lie?” Whispers spread throughout the group. There are no answers, not now.
Their lives end the moment the news is delivered. Some were “on the spot” and saw it first hand. Never mind. Either way, all stomachs are queasy. You know how something dreadful happens and you wake up in the morning? For a couple of mindless moments, you don’t remember, then you do; and you feel as if you’re in a nightmare? All you want is to escape the nightmare and go back to life as it was. That’s exactly how this group responds to the sorrow.
Their emotions spread in slimy pools of regurgitation all over the ground; their heartstrings sever into pieces of gag; their passion, passionless.
All this owing to the death of the Master, the living song they put all their hopes, their faith, their dreams upon.
But, oh, they know not of the new life, the life that will take place of the one before; an offering to all, with no retched odor to be spewed over all they think they know ...the life that will be their own ...
in only three days time.
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