Unbelief

A Short Story

It was a heady day when Amber realized she could unbelieve anything from existence.

Mosquitoes were the first to go.

One moment they were there, sucking great welts onto her skin. Next second they were gone. All of them.

That night Amber danced around the house, happy as a seven-year-old could be, and quietly unbelieved a few of her brother’s toys into non-existence.

In the morning, Amber did what she always did and took Deeohgee into the yard for his morning poop. But when he bounded away, the grass crunched underfoot. And when Amber looked real hard, it seemed to her the grass glistened with broken glass — just like the day her brother broke the window pane hunting aliens.

Amber bent down and scooped up a dragonfly, wings beautiful as spun sugar … and just as lifeless.

Amber ran into the house. “Mom! The yard is covered in dead dragonflies.”

“That’s too bad.” Amber’s mother poured milk into the cereal bowl. “They must not have enough mosquitoes to eat.”

Amber ate her cereal. Each crunch of Crunchy-Ohs echoing the brittle sound of dragonflies under Deeohgee’s paws. I’ll have to be more careful, she thought as she crunched. Unbelieving is a tricky business.