A Pure and Consuming Love

   ...there was a hissing;
      a hissing muffled by an immense ethereal silence,
          as if all was taking place within the hushed and sacred stone walls
              of a supernatural gothic and holy cathedral;
      a consecrated sense of the sacrosanct was all about.

   ...he was pulled from the mass of tortured metal,
       dazed,
       confused,
       uncomprehending,
            at first...
   ...aware of a looming devastation,
       whispering tersely amongst themselves,
            they made him sit,
                 head between his knees,
                 breathing deep,
                 almost sobbing...
   ...fighting the mind numbing explosions in his chest,
       attempting to detect even the smallest fragment of order,
            purpose,
            logic,
      desperately wresting control from his adrenalin rich blood;
            his first words,
                 "My daughter..."
   ...then,
        a rasping gasp for breath...
   ...determined,
        he raises his head,
            "Where is my daughter..."
   ...glances ricochet like hot lead in a pillbox;
   ...no one answers...
   ...as he struggles to rise
        a voice claims,
             "We've got her."
                   "She's okay."
   ...not trusting the sacred to tentative strangers,
        he reacts,
             this time rising to his feet,
                  his eyes darting,
                       piercing,
                       demanding,
                       commanding...
   "Where..."
   "Where..."
   ...another voice claims,
        "She's okay..."
   ...his body now darting in sync with his eyes,
         his senses becoming acute,
              he smells,
                    and instantly sees the ebony ribbon curling its way heavenward...

   ...his cerebrum explodes with seratonin,
        his heart once again floods with adrenalin...
   ...left behind,
        his body stumbles angularly towards the twisted wreckage...
   ...pushing and pulling against restraining Samaritan arms,
        shoving and finally powerfully thrusting,
             he clears a path to his child,
                  and the ebony ribbon becomes a thickening charcoal column...

"She's stuck,"
       a voice offers...
"We can't free her right leg,"
       another voice informs...
  ...then,
      "Daddy...Daddy,"
           her little voice.…
                a voice emanating such trust and belief,
                     such sacred trust and belief;
                a voice gushing unreasoned confidence;
                a voice conveying ultimate faith;
                     "My daddy's here…I'm gonna be okay…"
this little voice barely whispers,
       as the thickening charcoal column begins to speak...
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