In the backyard she sits under the washing line staring through her underwear at the muted bush fire sun.
The sun in turn stares at her but curses the flammable nature of the Australian bush for obscuring the view.
“The smoke is getting worse.” You tell her. “Shouldn’t you bring your clothes in?”
“No,” she replies. “It’s better this way. If I run into a bush fire in a dark alley and it smells my clothes, then it’ll think we’ve already met. Bush fires prefer virgins, don’t you know?”
In her lap she holds writing paper and a pen.
“Are you writing a letter?” you ask her.
“No” she says, “While I was waiting for my washing to dry, I decided to do today’s crossword, then I got bored so instead I decided to create my ideal god. These are my top five god concepts. Would you like to hear them?”
You look up at the sky getting darker and redder and you turn to her and say “yes.”
“Okay, here it is,” she says.
1. Must not be flammable.
2. Be available when I’m coming down.
3. Not be warlike, but not be afraid to belt anybody who needs to pull his or her head in.
4. Be available for dinner parties.
5. Must be a good dresser.
“A good dresser is an ideal god concept to you?” you ask
“Of course. How can I respect a god in tracksuit pants?”
“What will you do if the fire jumps the line?” you ask.
“Nothing,” she says while standing up. “All my rooms are temples and I’ve just realised… all my friends are gods. I have nothing to worry about.”
She walks back into the house. You reach down to pick up today’s crossword puzzle hoping to finish it but discover instead that she’s filled every empty square with a tiny flaming love heart.