Edmund sat in Sunday school drawing illustrations, oblivious to the other children. Oblivious to the teacher, he was lost in his boundless imagination. While the other children imagined Moses parting the Red Sea, Edmund thought of ways to scandalize members of his inordinately traditional church.

Couldn’t there be someone under seventy years old here? he wondered.

He drew a makeshift comic strip. Geriatric zombies stalked the hallowed halls of the church, hunting down all agents of change. The pastor cowered in his office, afraid he would be devoured by the hungry monsters.

Edmund drew himself as the hero. Large muscled arms. Military fatigues. He was a mercenary for hire, his goal to save the pastor from annihilation. Edmund drew himself a utility belt, filled with numerous quirky weapons.

He examined his work, pleased. Suddenly, he was brought back down to earth.

“Edmund, what is that you’re drawing?” his Sunday school teacher asked. “Bring it here.”

“Okay, but you’re not gonna like it…”