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    March 17


    My mom never took me to church. She always told me it was unnecessary and a waste of time.

    Usually, I didn't really care. But in times like now, where depression and confusion shrouded me like the fog of the day, I'd much rather go to church than sit around bored.

    So, in replacement for the church, I kneeled on my bed an looked at my little statue of Jesus nailed to the cross. It pained me to do so, and I was already crying as I started to quietly pray,

    "God, there are many, many things I don't understand about you, and I know I haven't really talked to you in awhile, but Tom...He's as cold as a--as an icecube, and I can never seem to warm him enough for him to melt. Please, God, if you do nothing else, please soften Tom's heart."

    I didn't know the mindset of God, but I was hoping he was already working on my request. But who knows when it will actually be answered.

    I sighed, and rolled over to the other side of the bed. Suddenly, I heard a faint voice from downstairs,

    "Darn it---------------here. Why's it--------" I only caught a few words, but I comfirmed the fact that my mom was muttering about something to herself...like a lunatic.

    In midst of my curiousity, I creeped over to the stair way, and eaves dropped on my mother's one person conversation with herself,

    "A gun, in the house...Why'd I ever marry that crazed fool?! He leaves his grandfathers weapon from Germany here, probably just thinking it would be a nice 'antique'. Ugh, and to think I haven't realized it until now..." Then she lifted the old gun she was talking about and (Because she was drunk, I assumed) stuffed it into a cabinet in the kitchen, completely accessible. She then looked up, and saw me. She exclaimed,

    "Mary! How long have you been standing there?" Uh-oh. Busted.

    "I--I just got here," I lied, slowly starting to head back to my room. She made hardly any reaction to what I said, and simply grunted and plopped down onto the sofa. She continued to stare at me, making sure I was gone before she chugged down a beer bottle.

    I sat on my bed with a heap. A gun, huh? Now why'd that pique my attention? It's not like I could use it, even if I wanted to. But God knows why I'd want to do that.

    There was no reason for me to be interested in it. But even so, something drew me close to it. Something about it...fascinated me.