I’m eating gum off the ground, but please don’t think I’m weird. Please. Because I’m pretty sure Pam and Mom and maybe Jesus already think I’m weird, and I don’t want anyone else to hate me. Not that Pam or Mom or Jesus hate me, but someone might, and that makes me sad. It really does.

So please don’t think I’m weird when I tell you I think gum tastes better when it’s been on the floor for a while. I dunno. Maybe I’m just hungry. Because I really am hungry. I wanna eat and eat forever, but all I can find is that piece of gum, and it’s very good, but Mom once told me if I swallow gum I’ll die, and I don’t want that, so I’m not gonna swallow.

Everything’s dark, and part of me thinks the world might have ended already, but I don’t want to think about that, because if I do I’m gonna start crying again.

All I had to eat tonight was a brownie that Pam gave me. It was awesome, so I had like three more, but then I went to the bathroom and now I’m here. I love Pam, especially when she holds my hand and kisses my nose and calls me Kat. Pam is the only one who calls me Kat, and it makes me feel alive.

I’m in this bedroom and there’s a bunch of comfy coats and jackets everywhere. I fell down in them and almost fell asleep, but the music downstairs is too loud, and my stomach is too grumbly, and my head hurts real bad. So now I’m just looking through all the pockets, trying to find something to eat that’s not gum. Please don’t think I’m weird. Please.

I want a cheeseburger. I know I probably won’t find one in any pocket, but I still wanna try. If I do find one, and I do eat it, I hope Jesus can forgive me for stealing. I love Jesus. I really do, even if Mom says that he doesn’t love sinners, which Mom also tells me I am. I want to love Jesus as much as Mom does.

Every Sunday Mom sits down in front of the TV with her Bible and watches a bunch of men in suits talk about Him. At least, I think they’re talking about Him. I try to listen, but all I hear is stuff about money and war and gays, and I don’t find that very interesting, but I try to stay awake anyway.

But now I’m thinking about the Sunday shows, and what I heard last week. One of the men in suits said the world is gonna end, and all the sinners are gonna die. Mom didn’t say anything, and I didn’t say anything, but now I’m crying and rolling around in the dark and everything hurts.

I fall off the bed and drag a few coats with me, but I don’t care. I’m gonna die, and everyone else is gonna go to Heaven, and I hate it. I’m gonna miss Mom, and I’m gonna miss my dog, and school, and Mr. Batista at the corner store, and Mrs. Estrella next door, and Pam.

Oh, Jesus, Pam. She’s never gonna hold my hand again. She’s never gonna kiss my nose, never gonna call me Kat. I’m never gonna smell that nice flowery shampoo she uses, and we’re never gonna go to the mall together. She’s not gonna love me anymore, and I don’t know if I can love her when I’m dead.

I hate this. I hate this. I don’t want to die, and I want to love everyone, and I want a cheeseburger, and I want this awful pain in my stomach to go away. Please don’t think I’m weird. Please don’t hate me.

“Help,” I say to a coat, “please help me.”

The bedroom door opens, and there’s all this bright light, and Jesus walks in. He’s wearing a tank top and a skirt, and he’s smiling, but I can’t stop crying.

“Kat,” He whispers, kneeling down to hold my hand. “Are you okay?”

I nod and try to stand, but I fall, but it’s okay because now Jesus is lifting me up. He helps me to my feet and I rest my head against His chest.

“I’m hungry,” I say through my tears. “I want a cheeseburger.”

Jesus laughs, which makes me laugh. “Okay, Kat,” He says. “I’ll get you a cheeseburger.”