a.simple.god

Today, a young woman wrote a letter to God, but all she could think about was how many stamps were necessary in order for him to receive it. She went back to her room and picked out the three most colourful stamps she could find. Every time her grandmother sent her a package, she soaked the cardboard box until the stamps peeled off and then kept them in a little tin box. Whenever she thought of her grandmother and of Iran, she thought of mountains and mosques, both of equal splendour, bustling marketplaces which smell like kabob and sabzi, and rustling skirts sweeping the streets while women donning brightly coloured scarves carried children, bread, or fruit from one place to the other. She thought if one were to hover above the ground, they would seem like tropical birds skimming the surface of a desert, leaving clouds of dust behind them.
She stuck the stamps on the envelope with glue stick and smoothed the corners so that the perforations would not tear. "He will like this", she said. Her small room smelled of saffron; her grandmother had sent her some in a little packet covered with florescent Farsi lettering, advertising the vendor. She inhaled deeply, and smiled. The bracelet Grandmother Mehri had sent her reflected a curse sent by a pair of evil eyes whose host stumbled past her window. The young woman didn't notice. After she finally sealed the letter, she placed it on the pillow of her cot, grabbed her schoolbag, locked her door and left for her French class.
When she returned from class not even an hour later, the letter was gone. The young girl smiled knowingly and sat down to commence with her studies.
It seems that Allah likes saffron and pretty stamps after all.