She ripped it up. Folded it over and ripped it again and again. Face ugly. Snarling. Tearing. Such a bloody stupid thing. I watched her from the bed. The little pieces fluttering and falling down on the floor. She kept going even when they were too small to tear, mashing and twisting them in her fingers. Then she swept up a bunch of them off the floor and came and sat on the bed.

See, she said. It's all nothing, really. She tipped the pieces onto the duvet. If there's a God she said, may he strike me down right now. Here. She tilted her head all the way back so she was talking to the ceiling. I could see her neck tensing up as she spoke. Right here. Just send a big old lightning bolt. Smite me. Right now. Dumb God. Pansy ass bloody God.

Nothing happened. Not a single thing. I looked down at the papers on the duvet. In the middle of one of them was the word: SAVED.