Pedestal

He spoke. He was young; he was pure; he was knowledgeable; he was witty; he was decisive. She thirsted for his wisdom like a lamb longing to suckle its mother's milk. There was no question he didn't have an answer for. He explained why the earth revolved around the sun; why the Framers did not create a democracy; why tragedies were cathartic; why injustice exists. In him was truth, beauty, understanding, goodness. He was the solution to global hunger, the Grail that knights perished for, the Alpha and the Omega. He was a man.

She stared into his eyes, captivated like teenage Miranda gazing upon the male body for the first time. Oh Heaven, that has showered me with such blessed beauty! Oh Justice, that has delivered me from these shackles of confusion to the freedom of knowing! Called out of weakness, succumbing to the glory of this man's marvelous might! Oh God!

But when tempests talked, he replied; when temptation said hello, he conversed; when sin smiled, he laughed. The decadent pleasure of lust he devoured. Oh, discreetly, of course. But his short happy life he could not forever conceal. She heard. She wept the salty tears of revelation and false hope. What hope, without the god she once adored? Oh save her, call her from the cyclical abyss she knows too well.