It was a speck crossing the cornea, a vast scope in a tiny cluster of mysteries that descended all at once into all of the human race. So they all saw it together, each, first there, in themselves and then somehow elsewhere, outside, and then again, wildly again and again, corpuscles of something that everyone recognised as being about them, as if it came from way down inside, or from Pluto, from some mysterious vast distance shooting down a white elevator all frosty, clear, windy, piling up from feathery and muffling distances, immense, conveying and feeding the strangest, scariest luxury in its humdrum, miraculous setting, its motive unknown but surely ulterior and entwined. It allowed no opposing greatness, was a kamikaze vision, billing voices in the inner ear, a permanently forsaken persistence and exemplary knowledge that showed the heinous truth of the battalions of each and every one of these avid souls. It worked as a one-way ticket.
What was it? The damnest thing! An albatross stretched across the globe, as if the earth was creeping away or straying, a semblance of sorrow and lamentations to come, never touching the ground. But the result in horror is what counted when the sailor shot it down dead.
Read the complete novel 'The Ecstatic Silence' here.