by Kerrin Piche Serna
What happened was that she did not want that kid sitting next to her, because he was filthy and he couldn’t sit still in church. So she slid to the end of the pew when she saw them coming, and wouldn’t you know it of course they sat down right in front of her, the kid already vrooming and snotting all over the place. She opened her Bible and looked down into it, waiting for goodness. In the middle of the second hymn she saw a dirty eyebrow and dirty obnoxious cheeks and ten dirty, disgusting fingers curled over the back of the pew, and he was staring at her. Singing loudly to the highest peak of heaven, she laid the edge of her mammoth Bible onto those dirty fingers and pushed down hard, as hard as salvation, and the yelp was drowned out by her joyful voice. She sang on.
Kerrin Piche Serna's short fiction has appeared in The Los Angeles Times and the Portland Review. She is the author of Disguises.