Because what is commonplace here might just make an interesting story somewhere else.
|Farra, "dark elf" age 14|
The children are writing stories about interstellar space travel, cursed elves, magic dogs, and hillbilly children named after, uh… plants. The creative juices are flowing. My oldest, at nearly fifteen, shared with me that she would like to be a traveling costumer and writer. The most benign children’s games can turn into life-long hobbies and careers, you just never know.
“Sure,” I smiled, as friendly as I could be. “I studied my way out of the Bible. I was really steeped in it, but I studied and found out the god of the Bible was not real.”
“But he is real. This stuff you guys are doing here, it can all be disproven, but God can’t.” He almost found his feet there for a moment.
“Sir, I make no pretenses about what we do here, this is entirely and admittedly fiction. As it turns out, so is God.”
He had nothing else for me. He began to back toward the hall he’d entered by. I had one more comment for him.
“But this group is open to everyone, believers or not.” I didn’t want to misrepresent the group, make it seem like an atheist gathering. I’m not sure he heard me as he turned and shuffled toward the door.
Sigh. I’m learning.