A Martyr's Love Song

The very essence of being a martyr is to die once the mission is fulfilled.

My mission ends here and now, on the papal balcony. The whole world is watching, that's why I am sure that my death, the death of the cardinals and . . . my father's death will not be in vain.

I can hear their cheering and chanting and it fills me with joy. Yes, they finally believe again. They no longer look up to the heavens and see bodies of gas but the creation of God. I opened their eyes to the miracles of this world, His miracles. Because of me, they no longer walk in darkness. I just hope that in the future, science will become less important, that God will reign once again. The God of love, not the God of protons and masses.

I feel their joy about the reawakened faith and yet I am filled with sorrow. Great sacrifices have been made. Father, forgive me. Your death was for the greater good. But I am sure you are aware that this was the only way to make them see. Horror and Hope. You told me to stand for what I believe in. That I do. And I die for it. I will receive the punishment for my sins. Just like you did.

Oh, I remember the look in your eyes, the horror. I thought it was the fear of death, now I know better. What a betrayal – to be killed by your own son. I killed my father.

One should have told me. It was my right to know what I am, not who I am – what. A product of science. I offended God, you offended God. How I wish you could feel what it is like to be not fully human. It tears me apart, the thought that I was conceived in a test tube.

That is another reason why it must end. I cannot possibly live with what I've done and with what I've learned. I killed my own father. The one who betrayed me after all. But still my existance was for a , I renewed their faith. That was my purpose.

And now that I'm done, it is my time to go. I will see you again, father. In heaven.

They people on St Peter's Square are looking at me. I know I saved them. But will it be enough? It is time to give them one last miracle . . .