God’s House

We worshipped every Sunday, with Mom and Dad, we were so good. We knew our stories (myths?), our verses and our fables. We were young, we were bright. We were full of hope.

How is it that the church turned you into an atheist and me into a cynic?

We heard whispers, we were glared upon. We didn't know there was a dress code in God's house. We didn't know there was a guest list in God's house. We learned quickly.

We grew older and wiser, our innocence vanished and you said to me, "No God I've heard of would allow this hell on Earth," your voice chilly and angry. I finished my drink, I laid my head down to sleep knowing you were right.

I've been alone ever since.