Flash fiction for Good Friday.
"When I was little I used to fantasize about being Jesus."
Steven smiled at Carrie's words. He leaned back in the booth and made himself more comfortable. Outside rain continued to wash along the curbs of the city, flushing debris and dirt into the sewers. When he was younger he used to sail popsicle rafts along those tiny rivers.
"It's probably a pretty common thing for young kids to do."
Carrie nodded and stirred her coffee. "I used to imagine what it would be like to be crucified. I used to think how cool it would be to hire someone to crucify me in the night. Top secret. In the morning, people would come around and find me up there, hanging. At first I thought that it would be okay to be tied to the cross; but as I got older, it occurred to me that ropes would be a pale substitute for iron nails."
Steven pushed his tongue against his cheek and glanced toward the door of the cafe. It opened and a fat kid came in, his hair flat against his head. He was a punching bag of kid.
"God, I wish I were Jesus," she said.