Friday Mass

         My chest is searing pain, yawning, an open chasm as I stretch every which way, trying to catch a breath of fresh air through the heavy incense. This is a place of worship, and God loves us all, is what the monotone priest says. I can’t help thinking, as my lungs groan and my heart beats just a little too fast, that if God is loving, where is he now? Where has he been since man was created? I feel a lie rising like bile in the back of my throat. My chest creaks and I feel weak. I have no choice but to be smothered by the incense.