Religion

A woman limped out of a liquor store with the submissive stoop of the genuflected and the promise of a liturgy to come in a bottle. A radiant, old face with the slight tremor of the merciful, holding a brown paper bag reverently out in front of her with both hands as a priest holds his chalice. And what would be the difference? She has been living, breathing and drinking the blood of Christ in a lifetime of unparalleled singularity that the clergy can only read about and shamelessly attempt to enact, mouthing their long-winded, incredulous interpretations of the Bible, done up like showgirls in their mawkish vestments.

END

This micro-fiction piece has been published in Ascent Aspirations, Foundling Review and Black Words on White Paper.

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About megtuite

Meg Tuite's writing has appeared in numerous literary journals including Berkeley Fiction Review, 34th Parallel, Epiphany, One, the Journal, Monkeybicycle and Boston Literary Magazine. She has been nominated several times for the Pushcart Prize. She is the author of two short story collections, Bound By Blue (2013) Sententia Books and Domestic Apparition (2011) San Francisco Bay Press, and three chapbooks including her latest, Her Skin is a Costume (2013) Red Bird Chapbooks, won the Twin Antler's Collaborative Award through Artistically Declined Press (2014), for her collaborative poetry collection, Bare Bulbs Swinging with Heather Fowler and Michelle Reale. She has a monthly column, Exquisite Duet, published up at JMWW. Her blog: megtuite.com
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