Work Text:
“...I was pinned under his corpse, Father.”
“And you blame God?”
“No. I blame the wet weather, the blind turn, shot break pads, the fact that my brother and I were acting like brothers and our dad turned around to tell us to shut up. The tree helped as well.”
“Then what do you blame God for?”
“My mother’s prayers. Six inches away, she bled out. She didn’t cry for help or reach for me or my brother or father. She just lay there and prayed.”
“I’m sure it gave her great comfort.”
“She exanguated, Father. How comfortable is that?”