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God’s Existence at Eleven

At eleven, God exists for me in storm-tried houses, with the smell of a large red door and whitewashed dusty brick. God exists on a staircase creaking, when the pine roping’s been placed and the needles swept away.

It is a shared belief that this house is haunted.

At eleven, while reading, the afternoon light begins to fade. I look up from my book at the touch lamp across the room and it turns on, sending my skin into a gasp of excitement and fear. I quickly blurt out “thank you” as I’m not sure how ghosts feel about manners.

The only time I show fear, happens fitfully one summer morning, the room sweating in Mississippi heat. I am shoving unapproved items into the bag that’s been packed for camp, when there’s a “huh” in my ear. In a flailing gesture I drop the bag and throw myself backwards onto the floor of my room, wide eyed and yelling for my brother!

At eleven, God exists in coughing ghosts.

Published by Anonymous Captain K

Captain, EGOT, Astrophysicist, Speller of Astrophysicist Without Spellcheck, Cartographer, Breaker of Elbows While Rollerblading in my House.

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