My dear old friend,

As I walked along the warm grass by the coast of the Maumee river this afternoon, the visage of your person entered my mind. The bright white pedals of the chrysanthemums triggered the same aroma I used to bathe in outside your front door while I worked up the courage to rap my fist on the cold blue steel of your welcoming door, my eyes locked on the door mat that was lovingly inscribed with the Godly verses of Leviticus 20:13. What a lovely reminder to put before anyone treads their naked heels in your abode. I commend your father for having the insight to employ such an exclusive appropriation.

I'll now recollect this early July's events, with my mind returning to the humid air this mid-late Summer is apt to produce. Leaving the mums behind me, I continued my normal walk towards the Great family's manor on the north side of the lake, mine being on the southern side amidst all the trees so that no one may spy on me. I passed St. Gerebald's rock, giving it a long glance as the wind blew my (God forgive me, for I have forsaken you and plead for your fathering guidance) long locks across my face. At this moment, all the sounds of the lake stopped. The common sounds of the sparrow and the red lory ceased with an unpleasing silence. I turned my gaze from the rock towards the lake to see what had happened. What I saw was a sight I never would want to see again.

In paralytic submission, I fear my stare had been locked. My teeth had gnashed and my eyes were refused their recessing relief of my body's water. God's might had forced me to see what was counter to his holy Bishop of Chalons sur Seine's rock, and to take in and memorize all that was before me. The entire soundscape of my ethereal world was laced with the Gregorian chant, Latinizied as "Dies Irae", the entire time I was having this vision, with an underlying tone of a low key upon an organ, such as that in Bach's Toccata and Fugue after his well known introduction and before the mash of notes that so shook my soul the first time I heard this, truly, God-inspired work of art.

What I heard was dwarfed by what I saw. The entire sky was deep blood maroon, and where there was the yellow white summer sky a tremendous pile of billowing clouds had now taken its rest. Each of the clouds were as sinister a color as the sky that played its background. There was a group of 5,880 men before me, above the lake which had now turned to ice. Beneath the ice there stand 41,160 women, all weeping for what God had taken from them. The women formed a large circle beneath the lake, and in the center of their circle was God's task-master. It was then I realized that this song was coming from this wring of wretched, and recanting these chant made each of the dames weep with regret. Their master in the center had his body turned upwards as if he was about to resurface, his right arm stretching into the sky enabling his right hand to break the surface.

The men on the ice's surface were divided. 2,940 of them resided to the left side of the lake, laying in submission. 1,470 of them resided to the right of the lake in fear, weeping for their confusion and falling back in a dazed amazement. The final 1,470 of the were in the task-master's grasp, their wails barely covered by the Chant, their arms flying above their head towards the sky as they were crushed and dragged beneath. Directly above the essence of evil I saw a divine being, winged, armored, and armed with a emerald sword. He payed no attention to those in the Grasp, or those encased in the Ice of Sin. His left hand reached out to those who were afraid and amazed, while his right authored a beam of light to those submissive ones on my right.

Those on my left, the submissive, were risen into the skies above into a portal of blue and white. Those on my left were placed upon a mountain at varying levels. Those in the center were taken underground with the women, their wails now overpowering the atmospheric chant. My world turned to white and the only one that remained was the divine armed being in the middle. I admit I was full of fear at this point. I stumbled backwards in the black robe and tripped. I fell upon the rock with a force that you would guess would be concussive, but the glory of God had allowed the stone to relax and fold into a soft cushion. The angel (so I am apt to label him though human words can never describe the art of God) drew close to me and called my name.

He then spoke in tongues and I could not understand. He went on for hours, while I lay prostrated on the ground. I allowed my ears to be filled with the words though I have no idea what they mean. Though God has allowed me to memorize them and I reproduce them here as such:

" 1) Sapienter agit cum Stalactite pinochle menagé à trois habet ad Evocator. Philosophus quandoque foliis, sed de CLUNIS ballerina semper brainwashes vidua! Quandoque pars tea ad flier milliaria frequenter lunaticus earns, sed omnia nocte ALACER nix semper vix ridens et bibit adipiscing elit!
2) Si timidus Dahlia favor humili de calice alius omphalos orat. In varius est a magnus fan of avide labyrinthi labyrintho prope, quia nix de CLUNIS plura puncta proiiciat youre a faggot. Alii alia Evocator satiates somnambulist ultra speculum. A bulla in balneo sanitizes Vivamus.
3) Umbra accidens ponit in labyrintho pink vitae. Appellaverit illam Nimbo (an Nimbo). A muscis in nive raptores aliquantum ridere, vel bulla definiri a balineo mastadon consiliis exitus ab execratione in paludem de-propre AMATIO gonad ad aliquid. Si turpis fere MULIEBRIS assimilat obstetricando tunc fragum obstetrix blonde-orat. "

After the speech, he removed his helm and his face was yours. He took a slash at me with his heaven-forged blade and I fell back into reality. I come to find out that I actually hit the rock as hard as would be expected and suffered a concussion. Apparently I also spent my whole vision entirely in the nude to an audience of small children and their concerned parents who were phoning the police. I write to you from Jail.

And that's how I became an atheist.

Please recount to me because I am lonely here in prison.

Love,
Boris
Sent to: profoundlyfo