They said the birds refused to sing and the thermostat fell suddenly. As if God himself had his breath stolen away.
No one there dared speak aloud, as much in shame as in sorrow. They uncovered the bodies one by one. The eyes of the dead were closed, as if waiting for permission to open them.
Were they still dreaming of ice cream and monkey bars? Of birthday cake and no future but the afternoon? Or had their innocence been taken along with their lives, buried in the cold earth so long ago?
These fates seemed too cruel even for God to allow. Or are the tragic young born again when the world's not looking?
I want to believe so badly, in a truth beyond our own, hidden and obscured from all but the most sensitive eyes.
In the endless procession of souls, in what cannot and will not be destroyed.
I want to believe we are unaware of God's eternal recompense and sadness. That we cannot see his truth. That that which is born still lives and cannot be buried in the cold earth, but only waits to be born again at God's behest.
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