Beliefs

          "Hello, this is our daughter Emmeline Harris. We call her Emmy."
          She twisted the knob on the rusted lamp, illuminating the dark room and her worn features. Slowly turning her head, she surveyed her surroundings.
          "Why what a lovely young lady, so polite and well groomed."
          There was one small iron bed, gray stained carpeting, a side table with one drawer that the lamp was sitting on, and one small window with a sweeping view of the highway. The walls were painted an olive green color, everything smelled like puke, and the bed had one yellow pillow on it but no sheets. It was everything you'd expect for $32.95 a night. She got up to look at the bathroom.
          "Yes, were very proud of her."
          There was one burnt out light bulb dangling precariously from the ceiling, and a black tiled floor. Across from the doorway sat the toilet, to the left was a metal sink jutting out of the wall with a cracked mirror above it, and to the right was a bathtub with brown rings. This was where the puke smell was coming from.
          "Tell me, Mr. Harris, has your daughter always chosen God?"
          She went back into the bedroom and opened the drawer in the side table. Rooting through it she found some candles and matches, next to a bible. She held them both up for a second, then put the bible back down and closed the drawer. Setting the candles and matches on the bed, she started to unpack her tote bag.
          "Of course, she's always wanted to follow in our footsteps."
          She pulled out a bottle of water, a black ballpoint pen, a pack of cinnamon gum, and a new Swiss army knife. Scooping it up in her arms she carried it all into the bathroom and deposited it in the sink, then went back for the candles. Standing next to the bed she pulled out one of the matches, lit the longest candle, and walked slowly with it back into the bathroom, where she stopped in front of the mirror.
          "What about you, Emmy? How did you know?"
          The light from the candle showed every flaw in her face, as she stared at its reflection in the mirror. Washed out blue eyes weighed down by bags stared back at her, over a small nose, thin lips, and a defiant chin. In the light her skin was sickly pale, deep grooves and lines surrounded every feature, long and thin blonde hair framed her face. Keeping her eyes on the mirror, she set the candle down on the edge of the sink.
          "It wasn't really a question for her. She knew in her heart what was right."
          Her small hands worked to take out the stud Jesus fish earrings from each lobe that she had gotten when she was three. Then to unclasp her gold necklace with the hanging cross that had been her baptismal present from her grandparents. Each piece of jewelry made a small clink as she set it down next to the candle on the sink. Next she lined up the water, pen, and knife, after opening the gum and popping a piece into her mouth.
          "Do you think that someday you'll be a preacher like your father, Emmy?"
          She opened the knife, and brought the blade down to her wrist, pausing for a moment before pushing the sharp steel into her flesh. She winced as she drew the first line of blood, but then went to work harder. Pushing the blade deeper, and making thicker lines. She chewed her gum thoughtfully, as she carved away.
          "Oh no, but one day she will make an excellent preacher's wife, and Sunday school teacher."
          Setting down the knife she felt lightheaded. She picked up the pen and started to pull it apart with her teeth, taking out the plastic tube of ink, and then blowing the ink through the tube and into the palm of her left hand. She started to rub the ink over and into her cuts. They stung as the ink mixed with the blood but her eyes did not tear. After she had rubbed it all over she opened the water bottle, taking a sip before using the rest to wash away the excess ink.
          "Would you still love your daughter if she ever lost her faith in God?"
          After spitting out her gum she stumbled back into the bedroom, and lay down on the bed. The blood running down her arms dripped onto the already stained mattress, leaving splatters of crimson that crusted brown. She started to drift away and her eyelids fluttered shut.
          "Don't be ridiculous, Emmy will always have her faith."
          As the ink started to dry in the open cuts, black words began to stand out among the fresh blood. "God Is Dead" was now permanently etched on her left arm, and a Cross on her right.
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