i walk by and watch his eyes follow every inch of me until i take my cold, hard seat that i was almost sure had been spit upon. he takes his hat off slowly and itches his dirty, greasy hair. "you look like hell" he says.
"you do too."
God had appearantly been depressed, he hadn't showered in what smelled like a couple of days. his lips were stained a slight pale yellow from the excessive amounts of cigarettes he'd been smoking. "Smoking is bad for you, you know" , i said.
"Kalea, don't tell me what is bad for me."
i had become a little irriatated with God, every question i asked him, came back with a heavily full reply. his old, tired hands were covered in scars, and bruises. he told me these had been from mistakes made when creating people, and lives, and earth.
I guess it's true that some wounds will never heal.
i sat staring straight ahead, aware that God knew every. little. thing. about me. "Do you believe in me, Kalea?" my lips were bloody and chapped from biting them, and i brought a hand up to them, i nervously picked at the skin.
"I believed in me once." God bent down to tie his shoe, and i noticed a picture in the back of his pocket, frayed and obviously looked over many times. "Who's that?" , i continued picking at my raw lip.
he handed me a kleenex.
"Her name is Tina, and she will be killed by this bus, at exactly 2:33 p.m." I turned immediately towards him, and grabbed his hand. God looked out the window, and tears ran down his face. "Are you going to stop it?" i felt the tears sting at the sides of my lips.
"i just need people to believe in me, Kalea."
Tina stopped at the cross walk and gripped her mother's hand.
it's 2:31 p.m.