As I waited in the taco line, I overheard a girl from my Macro class gibbering to her friend.
"Like, it was really gross. It just doesn't look right, you know? They're sick, those people. Sick, or crazy."
I used the tongs to smush meat into my taco shell.
"It's not God's voice they're hearing anymore. Like, God wouldn't ask them to do that."
"Why wouldn't he?" I snapped.
She turned around and looked me up and down.
"Because it serves no purpose?" she answered with a haughty inflection.
"So all suffering serves a purpose, then?" I pushed.
"What's your problem?"
She and her friend absconded with the rest of the pepper jack.
I don't think I was really angry with her; I was angry I didn't have a better answer myself.
YOU ARE READING
Transfiguration
Short StoryA mysterious boy who never takes off his jacket. A temple where men talk directly to angels. An extremely boring college economics course. Curiosity gives way to confusion as our nameless, genderless narrator learns the reason behind their classmate...
