There were times of peace and times of war. I have always come here to ease my mind of the world's problems. I have always come here when faced with my own demons, and I have kneeled here many times before; each time I am faced with the same answer---none. My head kissed the ground before the feet of Christ, and I offered up my sorrow. Still, when I pray for an answer, the only response I am granted is silence and the bitterness that I came with increases. I would gaze up into the face of the man we were told to be our saviour, and I would flinch, shuddering at the sight that loomed upon me.

Those eyes were cold, dead, and unforgiving. They stared into my very being and condemned me, "You are neither soldier nor sheep of mine, you sinful heathen." I heard the unspoken words in my heart and it sank. Something within me withered away as I continued to stare into those foreboding marble orbs. I searched his face for forgiveness, for mercy, for love. I searched his face for the promise of everlasting life, and to my dismay, all I found there was wrath; cruel and unforgiving wrath.

What was this face? This man I now fix my eyes upon is not the God they have taught us about all our lives. There was not a trace of understanding in his stone visage. Fear struck me now as I sensed something in me changing. A time bomb was fixed in the back of my mind, ready to explode. Was it an evil seed? Have I swallowed it somewhere along the line against my own knowledge? Is it a mortal sin? Should I be exiled from the Gates of Dawn?

My heart was moving with fright as I grasped at the marble folds of his robes. I suddenly feel so very alone now; isolated from the life I have lived. I am afraid to admit to myself this fear that was overcoming me. I am afraid should I confirm it to myself, it will all become too real, but lying is a sin.

"What is the meaning of this carnage?" I asked aloud, not lifting my head from the Statue. Before I knew it, my face was warm and streaked with tears. I began to sob; why I did not know at the time. The only thing that was real to me at the moment was this desolate pain in my chest and realization of just how wrong we have been. Who is this king that we all kill for, and why are we killing?

I was so young, and I was allowed to stain my hand in human blood for the sake of the Word. I have been told that God is good, and I have kept that sacred knowledge locked within the most divine chamber of my heart. But now…now that I am closer to him than I have ever been before, I am suddenly uncertain of his goodness. I looked up from his solid robes, and I found his cold stare still fixed upon me. For the first time, I daringly matched his stare, and a part of me died.

"There is no God…" I said aloud to myself, my blasphemous voice echoing down the isle of the white cathedral. My fear has been confirmed by my own mouth. There is no God, there has never been. The corners of my mouth quivered and I bit down on my lip, biting through skin without hesitation. "No God, no God," I snickered to myself before I began to sob again. If there is no God, was never a God, then what have we been killing for? All at once, the time bomb of discovery went off in my head, and one word came to mind: power.

We have been fighting for power, haven't we? Each time drawing our sword, declaring our holy motive, claiming ourselves to be Soldiers of God. The king we all kill for was only a figment of some sick man's mind, set in place to keep us under control. God was the power to install fear into our minds. God was the power to reinforce old governments. God was the power to justify irrational crimes. God was the pseudonym of power itself. God, in essence, was very evil.

My stomach churned at my new enlightenment. I could feel the remnants of the measly meal I had last night fighting its way back through my body and up my throat. I was sick, so uncontrollably sick that my vomit, bright green from stomach acid at once coloured the feet and robes of Christ. And as I lowered my head, it stained my worn hands and thing grey tunic. My own ignorance and blindness has kept me unaware of my own illness. I quickly reached for the rapier by my side and laid it in the puddle of bile. I stumbled to my feet and left a green stain on the cheek of the old king. They can take him away once more. I have renounced the Church, I have renounced power, and more importantly, I have renounced the infection of the most sacred thing of all; my mind.