God Comes to Roch
“Don't do that!”
I shouted with a start as I opened my eyes and saw a figure looming
over my bed.
“Get up,” the
familiar man said.
I sat up, propping
myself up on my elbows. “You don't exactly score points for
subtlety, you know.”
“Up,” the
figure insisted as he turned and headed out of the bedroom. “And I
could use a drink.”
Stumbling in the
dark, I followed him down the hall into the darkened living room.
“Wait, what time is it? It's the middle of the night!”
The man flipped a
lamp on and found himself a seat on the couch. “You live with
people now. It's hard to find a time when you are alone for some
private and genuine conversation.”
I stood dumbfounded
for a moment.
“You never pray
anymore,” he clarified.
“I don't know how
to pray,” I replied with a shrug and walked into the kitchen. “Now
you said you wanted a drink? I don't think they have...”
“Surge,” came
the voice from the couch.
