Flash Fiction #176 – The Atheist

When you attend Glory Church on Sunday, look back in the far left corner. In the shadows, you’ll see a man in black we call The Atheist.

His wife Celie was the head pastor there. He clapped with us as she sang glory to God. Though a non-believer, he always believed in her.

Celie died five years ago; he hasn’t clapped since. But he never misses a Sunday.

I asked him why once. He hesitated before he spoke. “The idea that there may be a place where Celie still exists is the only thing that brings me comfort.”

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