By Angela Gant
BRANDY
When I was little my parents asked me to believe in Santa Claus. Now you couldn’t see him or hear him when he came, but he was there. They asked me to believe, and I believed with all my heart. I trusted them, and they lied to me. All of them. My parents, my teachers, even the guy who tells you what the weather is going to be like. I trusted them, and they lied to me. Then one day my parents asked me to believe in God. Now you couldn’t hear Him or see Him when He came. Oh, but he was there. Then one day my parents died. Now I can’t see them, and I can’t hear them. I’m not sure they were ever even here. I still don’t believe in Santa Claus.
