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Getting Ready

I am good. I followed the rules, always did my best, and yet one bad thing after another happens to me. And yet my father, a bad man, is alive while nearly half a dozen people lay six feet beneath the earth for being good.

How does this make any sense? How is this God's will? Why does God punish the good?

Fuck God’s will. Fuck God in general.

Didn't I make it clear that I don't want to hear from him anymore? That I want nothing to do with him, or anything remotely related to him?

"What are you going to do with it?" Grandma asks softly. She leans against my dresser, chewing on her inner cheek.

"I don't know," my voice cracks. I tilt my head back to look at her. "Did he send you one too?"

Her lips pinch together with a shake of her head.

After she leaves, I end up staring at it longer than I wanted to. I curse when a tear falls down my cheek. I hastily wipe it away and scoff. Out of everyone, he doesn't deserve any tears.

Yet despite my thoughts, they continue to fall.

I open my side
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