I have taken off my religion, but cannot remember why. It functioned just the same, without god. Perhaps, I did it in defiance. I stopped believing in an omniscient gift-giver, yet resented a wasted prayer. I continued to ask, knowing it would always be answered in the negative. Every word would become a bouncing echo, slowly drowning in heavy incense.
No, it did not function just the same. It did not function at all.
The children ask me about god, and I am glad that their short attention spans prevent them from waiting for an answer. They soon skip away, bloated with the joy they have taken from me. My patience is not strong enough for the challenge of raising them. But in this, I have no choice.
Juliet finds herself fully absorbed in her anger. When this exhausts her, it is depression that takes over.
Our mother was a bad one. Why should sister be any different?