Prelude.
Gurgle. Gurgle. Gurgle.
Silas' world was silent. Deadening as fast as his heart pumped precious blood out of his wounds, his limbs did not change colour, for how could a ghost grow pale? He lay on the pavement, listening to himself die. His eyes were not dim, he looked into brightness- a colorful world he was not part of. Yet he didn't see. Couldn't see anything. His mind felled by the thought that everything he believed in, everything he had given his immortal soul for, everything he had loved as best he knew how, had been lies. A dreadful calmness settled in his stomach. It was best that he die now. Easier than struggling with the knowledge it had all been for nothing. He had not been God's angel, far from it- his acts had displeased his Lord. How disappointed must He be in Silas? What a ruined life. He was only fit for death now. Nothing. He had nothing. Nothing of the little he ever had.
If he had been able to do so, if there was breath left in his body, he would have sighed with utter weariness. Finally he was able to go where his Lord's son had gone before him. Let this be his crucifixion- it certainly hurt more than all the pain he had caused himself over the years. If only he could have truly lived the life of an unbeliever for just one day…