She scarcely heeded the direction she took. She left that to her broncho, who sped into the heat of the dusty daylight, following hard in the footsteps of the wind.
What she wished to do was to go straight to God, to stand before Him and ask him questions.
If within us earthworms there is the Divine Spark of the Deity, if we are in truth His sons and daughters, she reasoned, then we have some rights that this Deity is bound to respect.
What earthly father would knowingly permit his children to stumble blindly along dangerous pathways into dangerous places?
What earthly father would demand that his children rush headlong into danger unquestioningly?
What earthly father would create hearts only to crush them?
Why had He thrust human beings onto this earth against their will, without their volition, to suffer the tortures of the damned?
Why had He created this huge joke of an animal, part body, part soul, all nerves keen to catch at suffering, only to laugh at it?
Why had He taken the pains to fashion this Opera Bouffe of a world at all? Why had He made of it a slate upon which to draw lines of human beings, then wipe them aimlessly off as would any child?