Her spaghetti-like hair shot into the sky as white whispy clouds flew by. With every pump of her miles of legs, she wondered if she was one inch closer to heaven. Her  wrinkled dress curtained the streaks of light rushing between her and the little boy twisting carelessly in the neighboring swing.  Just yesterday, her melancholy had been derailed as she listened to the soft-spoken words the minister had preached at Sunday services. That heaven was a beautiful place and if people just prayed their prayers every night, rest assured they’d be there someday. Up in heaven.  That had to be just beyond the sky that she gulped with every push and pump higher. She wondered if she was already there; swallowing the cool air as her Mama made a snack of blueberry jam on biscuits nearby.

The swing tormented Sophie’s giggles with it’s rusty-chained litany of sharp squeaks; up and down, back and forth with every pump. Higher and higher she went, gulping, swallowing, squealing-as if to dare her mother (watching out of the corner of her eye) to look over and call her down. “You’re going too high, Sophie! Slow down now!”

Then it happened. She noticed the neighboring swing was suddenly empty, wiggling in the breeze, yearning for another child to take hold of it’s smooth chain and bring it to life since the little boy, her younger brother, fool of a child, had untangled himself and ran to get his share of the temptatious snack.

Was heaven this feeling of flight in the sky–or was it the taste of her Mama’s fresh baked biscuits with blueberry jam?  She had to find out—and before those dirty and scratched up legs could stop pumping, off Sophie jumped- to her mother’s dismay and fright-to taste that biscuit and decide if it just might be heaven, too.

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