One summer night in Toronto, under the cloak of darkness, I was drawn to the sky, eyes searching the abyss for that elusive sparkle of a shooting star. Instead, what captured my gaze was something far more enigmatic. A black-gray object, faint against the midnight canvas, slipped silently through the heavens. It had no flashing lights, no hum of engines, just an eerie stillness that defied the ordinary.
At first, I doubted what I was seeing. Was it even a solid object? With intense focus, I discerned a shape reminiscent of two airplane wings joined without a fuselage—a phantom contraption with no sound to betray its presence. It moved faster than any cloud, and without the predictable glow of aviation lights.
Skeptical by nature, I have never been one to accept tales of flying saucers without question. Yet, this was undeniably an unidentified flying object, slipping unnoticed through the night sky. Few would have seen this—unless, like me, they were searching the heavens with deliberate intent.
The mystery remains: a silent, shadowy figure in the night, defying reason and explanation, a fleeting visitor whose passage left more questions than answers.