"Lazarus, come forth!" He realized he'd been hearing it since he died four days ago, since that jarring moment which catapulted him into the depths. He had followed those echoes through the archives of his soul, across the shimmering meadows of his childhood, through the labyrinths of his youth, and along the rutted road of his adulthood.

The cry grew louder as he moved through Bethany, his town, as the years passed. He watched himself grow ill, then saw his death. He followed himself, now a dot, moving through his past, guided by the call of Jesus. The dot marched through his childhood, his adulthood, Bethany, his illness, his death. Now it was right behind him, a dot chased by the echo of a dot, chased by the echo of an echo-lunatic mirrors fell upon his mind.

"Lazarus, come forth!" One more step: a light which moved and rolled like a living being, whispers, songs, so many close friends (when had he known them?), mysteries revealed (when had he discovered them?), a man named Jesus who was the echo of a ghost who was the shadow of God who sat within the nucleus of the atom he had become. Lazarus understood.

The moment was upon him. Reverberations shook him like a leaf, wrenched him back through endless regressions of his life, pulling everything upon him like a Himalayan avalanche. The cacophony-the pounding of drums, the shouting of trumpets, the racing of the living light- expanded within him until he felt like a giant. The man stood before him, untouched by the mayhem. "Let me stay with you," Lazarus begged.

"Lazarus, come forth!" He gasped, felt the suffering of life pour through him, mourned for the man who was his savior. The crystal madness unfolded before him; echoes slipped neatly on top of one another and vanished. He stood, stepped out of the cave, and walked towards his savior, his family, and the town of Bethany.