Each morning, Lucy faithfully prayed that God would see fit to bring her a proper breakfast. None of this egg and toast nonsense. She desired a breakfast of a saucer of milk, a meat bone, and coffee. But each morning, the same old nonsense was brought to her room by Nana.
She continually looked for an angel with a tray hovering over the end of her bed. When none ever appeared, she became determined to eat only the flowers; Kitty and Doggie would have to made do with toast, egg, and tea.
After a childhood of unfulfilled prayers, Lucy formed her own Church of the Proper Breakfast where morning miracles were possible. These materialized from the cosmos, she thought, never noticing that everything smelt a bit like brimstone and the bone tended to be slightly singed.
Writing in the raw for Jane Dougherty’s Sunday Strange Microfiction Challenge 8.