Being born as intelligent as I was was a blessing and a curse. I was far more intelligent than even the smartest adult I knew, although they’d argue that fact. Adults didn’t like being told they were wrong about anything, and their favorite answer was ‘because.’ That word was not an answer to a question. Even a kindergartener could tell you that.

Sighing, I was bored, and the air in the room was hot and sticky. Glancing at my window, I took in the curtains that were hanging perfectly still and decided to fan my face with the book since it was the only thing it was good for—well, maybe except for burning it. I’d lit one or two on fire, and they burned hot and fast, the gold pages sizzling as they turned to ash.

Church was interesting, not because I cared what the priest said, but because it gave me the perfect place to watch those that came and sat among the pews. They were never the wiser that I envisioned how I wanted to kill each and every one of those stupid people. They were lemmings in my game, and just like the little floppy-haired animation, they would follow along one after the other. Sure as shit, if one went over the cliff, they all would. I could picture them yelling, ‘praise Jesus,’ on the way down.

I stopped fanning myself long enough to stare at the words again and wondered why adults tried to say the words inside were from God’s lips to our hands. This statement was filled with major issues that they all liked to ignore. If this book was so perfect, why was it missing major portions that no one wanted to discuss? Or why did they say that boys shouldn’t have sex with one another and that God would be angry when that wasn’t referenced until the King James version in 1946? Did God come down again and whisper in some old man’s ear that he didn’t like it? I highly doubted it.

Last Sunday, I was marched out of church because I stood up and told the priest that the Noah’s Ark story was actually a retelling of Gilgamesh. When we got home, my father smacked my ass until I couldn’t sit without wincing for speaking out in church and making the priest look bad. You’d think that the man would know if he’s teaching the crap. Seemed logical to me. Then my father made me stand in the corner like I should be wearing a dunce cap, but really it should be on his head. Should be on all their heads.