By James Callan

Hannah eyed the wooden saviour nailed up on His cross, up on her wall. She gazed at Him, there beside the pinned-up butterflies, and stuck out her tongue. In mockery, she placed a Cool Ranch Doritos triangle into her open mouth, crossed herself, and intoned “The body of Christ” before chewing like a savage, a pagan animal, to shed over-flavoured snack shrapnel upon the plush, white carpet.

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