I fucking hate churches...

Gerald sat in the seat of the confessional, wriggling ever so slightly as he did.  He'd heard of this ritual before, from a people...and all of them seemed convinced that the experience had left them feeling a bit better.  And so here he was, hands in his lap like some naughty child, trying his best to avoid plucking at the fabric of his jeans as he waited for a response.  Wearing these casual clothes seemed...odd, but it likely would've been hard to explain otherwise.  He waited in silence for five, ten seconds, before the man on the other side spoke.  His voice was warm, whimsical, and surprisingly young.  How old was the man on the other side, he wondered?  30?  50?  Could he perhaps be far older, and emboldened by faith?  So many questions already in his head, and it took a visible effort to squash them down.  This wasn't about the man on the other side.  This was about him, and what he had done.

"How long since your last confession, child?"

"To be honest, this is...the first. I've never felt quite right stepping into a house of faith."

"God loves all of his children, my son.  You should never feel unwelcome in his home."

Gerald barely bit back a laugh or a bark at that comment.  Knowing what he did, to say he was unwelcome was...an understatement.

"I've spent a long time lying, Father.  To a lot of people.  It's...getting hard to separate the truth from the lies.  It's getting hard to remember what I'm even lying about, or why.  All I know is that it's going to end...badly."[/color]

"Satan is the father of lies, my son.  It is with his tongue you speak, when you lie.  What lies have you told?"

Was that a hint of humor Gerald heard slipping into the pastor's voice?  Was he perhaps falling into some familiar rhythm?  Hoping that this levity would draw honesty from him even now?  Or was it a simple case of the father being so jaded that mere -lying- was simply that low a sin to him?  His mind raced with the possibilities, leaving him tongue-tied for nearly a full minute.  Dammit, why did his mind -run- like this?  Why couldn't he just stop thinking for once and -act-?

"I lie about...how smart I am.  I grin and play dumb.  I let...people correct me.  Simple mistakes.  It feels so much easier than having them resent me for making them look bad.  For...speaking my mind."

"My child...there is no shame in sparing one's feelings.  God may not appreciate it when we lie, even for good reasons.  But that doesn't mean he won't understand.  Do you think that you've truly hurt those you've lied to?"

"I...no.  That's not...all.  I've lied to protect...bullies.  To shelter wicked men from the weight of their sins.  I've kept silent about too many atrocities to count.  Wicked deeds, done for the greater good."

"No, my child!  No wicked deed serves His will.  If these people are truly that irredeemable, then-"

"They're not bad people.  They just...made mistakes.  They were forced into terrible terrible situations.  They...have to choose between two wrongs, every day of their lives.  These people, petty and cruel as they may be...their work is important.  And I owe it to everyone to...to stay silent."

"My son.  My son!  That is not true!  You owe it to everyone to tell the world!  If their deeds are truly as well-intentioned as you claim, let it be proven!  Let the Lord protect them or serve them unto their fates, as is His will!"

Gerald could feel his hands balling, could feel his face turning red and his temper rising.  The man on the other side of the pew was growing more and more excited with every moment, was growing more and more invested.  Had he really managed to flip some kind of switch in the man across the doorway?  Or had they heard something in his voice, something that urged them to act quickly and decisively?  He needed another minute or two to sit in silence, his hands clenched against his knees as he finally spoke.  A soft, weak voice...nearly a croak.

"I killed a man, Father."

Silence.  Utter silence.  Was that judgment he detected from the other side?  Concern?  Worry?  He'd been told these pastors were honorbound to keep information to themselves, but would that hold true?  Would this man across the pew, this man who had never once faced down a raging beast, a rabid once-man that would only destroy itself and others in a spectacular manner if not taken down?  Could he understand the crippling...paralyzing fear?

"Not...literally.  I don't mean.  But it feels like it, sometimes.  It's like...I was he...he was a colleague.  We're...exterminators.  Or zookeepers.  Or...or soldiers.  Any of them fit."

"What do you feel fits, child?"

"A...a soldier.  Yes. But we don't fight normal men.  We fight...wicked men.  The -most- wicked of men.  Men that would turn this entire world to dust if they weren't stopped.  Dangerous men, that can barely be called humans anymore."

"And your colleague...?"

"He trusted in me.  He...depended on me.  He thought I'd save him.  He thought I -could- save him.  I'm not sure what ever gave him that impression...I'm not sure why he thought I could...he hardly even knew me."

"Yet he knew a kind, pure soul when he saw one.  Not all men are fooled by the lies of the tongue, my son.  Your colleague doubtlessly had faith that you would do what was right."

"I...I didn't.  I couldn't.  He was standing face to face with one of those...one of the horrible men we have to fight.  I could've...taken the shot.  I could've saved him.  I could've saved a lot of people.  But I...didn't.  I had to keep the lie going.  I had to play...dumb."

Again that silence.  The pastor's head fell back against the padding behind him, clearly as lost for words as Gerald.  Was that a good sign?  A bad one?  Why couldn't he stop -worrying- about all this?  Why did his brain keep flitting around, coming to different conclusions and ideas, shoving out the silence with all the incessant noise of his own neurons firing, his own thoughts crowding in on his skull!  Why was he always so fucking contemplative!?

"My son.  Do you know the parable of the Faithful Servant?  If not, I'll save us both time...as I feel you may be overflowing with words.  To whom much is given, much is expected.  If you have these gifts, do you not owe it to the world to use them responsibly...?"

For the first time, Gerald's voice rose above a speaking tone.  He snapped in an almost acerbic tone, hands clenching so tightly he could feel the nails digging into the meat of his palm.

"It was -not- given!  This was...thrust upon me!  I never had a choice in the matter.  I never asked to be...strong.  I never wanted to be smart, to be...capable.  I never wanted to be anything but...but happy.  But there's always something new, always some new obligation, some new job, some new...thing.  Always something in the way.  All I want is to be -happy-, Father!  I just want to feel for once in my life like I am loved!"

Again, that silence stretching on into infinity.  Again, the soft, subtle sounds of someone shifting in place, of thoughts slotting into place...and finally a soft, slow exhalation.

"God loves all of his children.  Especially those who sacrifice their happiness for others.  It is a thankless task but in time the rewards will be-"

"Always in time.  Time in all things time heals all wounds I'm -tired- of waiting!  I can't go forever on promises of tomorrow, Father!  When will this suffering -end-?"

"...When you love God, my son.  When you love the part of God that was placed in yourself.  Only then will you find solace, find...belonging.  Wherever you may be."

And there it was.  That was it, was...too much.  Gerald collapsed forward, the tears in his eyes too much to keep back.  He sobbed and curled up into a ball, resting there for what felt like hours, simply waiting for the pain to wane, for his thoughts to come back to him.  Finally, Gerald had found something to hold his thoughts at bay, finally Gerald could turn off the wretched noise of his thoughts.  All he had to do was be in agony.

Finally, stumbling from the confessional, he began to walk with numb legs, barely capable of standing much less locomotion, and all-but collapsed onto one of the pews.  He stared directly forward, hands resting in his lap, waiting for... wasn't sure anymore.  For love?  Would Gerald know it when he felt it?  Or was it already too late for that?

Coding By: [THEFROST]