I am seven, I committed a crime and I am going to prison. Brothers won’t visit for fear of being locked up as well. At school, my mates think that Mister Williams can read my thoughts.
Open your Bible at ‘Exodus’ chapter ten, paragraph four, he says.
[…and Moses answered: Oh, God, I am slow of speech…]
I jump over squares in conversation when real things are the wrong way around but shortcuts lead to mistakes. They are so loud it is impossible to miss them.
Press “space bar” to be born.
Press “escape” to swear in emojis.
I bear the full stops’ weight God’s tongue dropped on my back. I trusted God to wake me up for school with a packed lunch. At breaktime I hear rumbling and my heartbeat. Mister Williams says when you get upset your heart grows claws that poke at your ribcage until you pass out.
To avoid passing out, I have stolen a lunchbox. A thief deserves to: a). go to prison and b). die hungry.
How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?
I eat my past in small bites and praise the Lord.
© Maria Stadnicka