The Infinite Pieces of Us

by Rebekah Crane

“The whole world is one big container. Everyone’s a hostage. That’s life.”

The truth is clearly not my specialty.

I’m pretty sure when I die, God will stand with a clipboard full of my sins, ready to tick them off, brutally replaying my life, moment by moment,

If I cleaned houses as an after-school job, I wouldn’t want to come home and clean more.

Complex Math Problem: If the whole world is lying, does truth really exist?

“Are you proud of me because I don’t look like I had a baby anymore, and now everyone can stop worrying people will find out? Or are you proud of me because I’ve made friends who care about me?” Mom smiles. “Be home by ten.”

Men wrote the Bible anyway. No wonder Jesus was a boy.

“Everything and everyone is already broken anyway,” she says. “You can’t change that.”