Rain trickles down the stained glass windows of the church in which I gave up all hope in the existence of any so-called deity. Upon the arrival of gun shot, the normally still surface of the church started to bubble and boil. The inhabitants wailed and ran and, to my dismay, forgot all about the little girl who let loose the first cries. Those were my cries, and that was the gun shot meant for me. A tall, overwhelming figure of a man stood before me, but who this man is I'll never know, for my fear glazed over his face and, to me, he was nothing but an amorphous blob of malevolence. As the bullet burst from it's containment and thrust itself to pierce my skin, the world around me slowed to a halt, and I was face to face with the lead that was to kill me. It was then that I knew that this was the wrong place for me, and I set out to find another. I ripped desperately at this moment in time, ripped a hole in it just big enough to step through, and did just that. I left the rain and gunshot and screaming din.