And when the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour... And the seven angels which had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound.
Who are you?
I am Death.
You have come for me?
I have been for a long time at your side.
This I know.
Are you prepared?
My body is, but I am not.
Wait a moment.
You all say that. But I give no respite.

I want to confess as best I can, but my heart is void. The void is a mirror. I see my face and feel loathing and horror. My indifference to men has shut me out. I live now in a world of ghosts, a prisoner in my dreams.
Priest: Yet you do not want to die.
-Yes, I do.
Is it so hard to conceive God with one's senses? Why must He hide in a midst of vague promises and invisible miracles? How are we to believe the believers when we don't believe ourselves? What will become of us who want to believe but cannot? And what of those who neither will nor can believe? Why can I not kill God within me? Why does He go on living in a painful, humiliating way? I want to tear Him out of my heart, but He remains a mocking reality which I cannot get rid of. Do you hear me?
Death: I hear you.

I want knowledge. Not belief. Not surmise. But knowledge. I want God to put out His hand, show His face, speak to me.
But He is silent.
I cry to Him in the dark, but there seems to be no one there.
Perhaps there is no one there.
Then life is a senseless terror. No man can live with Death and know that everything is nothing.
Most people think neither of Death nor nothingness.
Until they stand on the edge of life and see the Darkness.

Ah, that day.