Ah, the Power of Prayer

I wrote this little story on my train ride home.


Simon spent Thursday night praying to a God that he only occasionally believed in. Staring at the ceiling above his bed, he silently petitioned his deity to vanquish his enemies. He had a meeting with them in the morning and the thought of it lit his nerves with anxiety.

As he pulled out of his driveway on Friday morning, his hands shook on the steering wheel. He had to tighten his grip to make them stop. He arrived and stepped out of his car with his thoughts heavily occupied by the impending foreclosure of his home. When he looked up expecting to see his bank, he saw nothing but an empty lot. There was no rubble and there were no signs. It was like the bank had never been there at all.

He drove home and tried to call the banker that managed his account. An old lady answered and told him there had never been no fucking bank at this number. He half expected his house to vaporize around him, but it never did.

He spent Saturday in front of the TV in a daze while his wife took their children on errands. Sitting on the toilet in the afternoon, he broke out in tears. He wasn’t sure why. Was he relieved or was he scared?

On Sunday, Simon woke up early, put on his dress clothes that had been hanging untouched in his closet since he had been laid off and grabbed the car keys from the window-sill. His wife asked him where he was going and he told her he was going to church, to pray.


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