I was finally in a class where I felt at home. Religious education.

This was the class where I was picked on the least, probably because everything I ever said in our lessons were always relevant to the topic. People didn't think I was crazed here. They just thought I was a good student.

Of course, I sat by myself because I didn't have any friends. Devon had actually found new people to hang out with, but not like it made a difference anyways. If you held a piece of paper up to the sun and poked a hold through, light would come in. Devon was a mere small spec of light which made absolutely no difference to that whole sheet of paper. Harry was a realist, so he would probably just tell me to put down that fucking piece of paper.

I took down notes in class even though I already knew it all. I just wanted to look like I was doing something productive when really, this work was far too simple.

My teacher, Miss Watkins eyed the class in curiosity as she awaited yet another answer to the question. "There's no right or wrong answer to this. But do you think religion helps those who are suffering?"

I kept quiet as another pupil answered. "Well, yes because charities such as Christian Aid travel the world to help put an end to poverty."

"Good. Anyone else?" She asked.

"People pray to God?" Another spoke quizzically and shyly. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

But Miss Watkins noticed my discomfort and crossed her arms. "Why the eye roll, Miss Thomas?"

Somehow I had no anxious thoughts of feelings within my whole mind or body.

"Uh- for a start, God never answers prayers. I pray almost every night for the exact same thing and I never get an answer." I confidently argued, relaxing back into my chair and oddly smiling at the thought that I felt this way.

"But perhaps God feels that you don't need whatever you're praying for-"

"No," I laughed. "I definitely need what I'm praying for when all I ask is some peace."

She frowned as she uncrossed her arms in thought. "Hm, continue. Try and develop that."

"Develop it? What else am I supposed to say? I'm sick of my boyfriend having to pick spit balls out of my hair every other day? I'm sick of-"

"You have a boyfriend?" A girl sitting at the desk in front of me snickered.

"Really? That's all people care about? I'm making a valid point about why God doesn't help those who suffer and you're only concerned about my boyfriend?" I asked in disbelief, and then that's when I began to shake. But it wasn't because I was anxious, I was just slightly heated.

The rest of the class glanced at each other with confused and slightly amused stares, and Miss Watkins' patience was gradually decreasing. "Then make your point, Harley. If people, I presume as 'bullies' are making you suffer, why do you think God hasn't answered your prayers?"

"You know what? I know exactly why he doesn't answer my prayers," I raised my eyebrows and sat up straight, my hands flat on my desk. "I need to fight back."

"God doesn't want that." She dismissed the idea.

"Why not? An eye for an eye, right? Everyone should fight back. People just can't be pacifists nowadays when there's so much war and discrimination. When people don't fight back, it just gives the enemy justification to continue what they're doing. I mean, silence is violence. You simply cannot kill someone with kindness."

I took a deep sigh to catch my breath quickly after as I was sure I wasn't done yet. But Miss Watkins seemed to have excluded me somehow, and she then sat back at her desk. "Some people have different perceptions, Harley. You fight fire with fire, you get burned."

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