This is the second time I’m fuming with rage towards the heavens. The first time was when God chose the Bible over my friend. I was in my room kissing the face of the sweet angel Mother had just given birth to. Enam.She was the most beautiful thing then. She still is. Only now she’s trying to walk and thinks everything she finds is food.Babies are dumb.Once she put the remote control in her mouth and began to chew on the buttons. Sometimes she makes me upset. But Mother says she’s only a baby. I guess I have to understand.That day, I saw Father through our broken window, carrying his old net on his shoulder while shielding his eyes from the sun with a firm hand.He stopped when he heard the shout. I followed his gaze down the path and saw for the first time, angry flames. They were red. I had always thought fire was yellow, like the sun. Father dropped his net and begun to run, faster than I’d ever seen him run.I imagined him in a blue track suit on the tracks, waiting for the whistle to be blown. I smiled thinking of my strong father carrying a trophy, pumping his fists into the air.But life has a way of turning our dreams against us. Father was only a hero in my dreams. Because that day, he came home defeated. He told us about the fire. Its intensity. He said the whole town had gathered. The house had been burnt to the ground. And then he looked at me and said “Ebo was inside. He couldn’t make it.”Ebo was my best friend. That day, it was mother who cried. I was seven years old and thought all the flowers on the earth were planted by blind people who lost their way. While Mother clung to me and wept, I imagined Ebo, in an oversized helmet, shooting down the flames with his water pistol. In my mind, he called me to join him save the world but I couldn’t. Mother had her hands wrapped so tight around me; I kicked and kicked but she wouldn’t let go.He said the whole town was talking about the Bible. The one that didn’t get burnt in the flames. Why, it made perfect sense to me.Ebo never liked to read. During English period, all he did was find old gum stuck under chairs and then stick them under my shoes. So it made perfect sense that he didn’t carry the Bible along. He’d find no use for it.That’s what I thought until Mother told me about God.“He just watched Ebo burn and kept the little book surrounded by angels?” I blurted out. My version was definitely easier to understand, chew and swallow. Mother went on and on about this God. How He moves in mysterious ways. How His thoughts aren’t like ours, how we can never understand what He chooses to do.I was numb from the revelation.The truth was sour. I tried to spit it out, wash its taste from my mouth. But mother wouldn't let me. She fed her faith into my belly and I ate it in silence.That was the first time I got so mad at the powerful man. I threw stones at the clouds, hoping to hit Him. I even hid the wooden cross where He was hanging wearing a crown of thorns on His head.This is the second time I’m angry at God, and today, my rage is mighty. I would burn a church if I could. Mother was taken away last night for another baby. It was going to be a boy and I’d teach him how to catch fish. I kept my white shirt clean so that when I held him for the first time, he wouldn’t get dirty. But my heart is shattered. There is no baby. And Mother is never coming back, they say she’s gone to be with the Lord. Enam isn’t eating well, and Father won’t speak to anyone.I am angry at God. Again. This time I can almost taste the anger on my tongue. I can’t sit down and do nothing. I’m not letting this go. Ever.I storm out of the room with a Bible in my hand and a match stick in the other. I strike the match once – daring the angels to come down. The flame squeezes my heart and my wrath splits into a million pieces.Exodus burns before Genesis and tears flow down my eyes like a river. The heavens don’t even blink.