Why was he here?
Why had he bothered to come? It was no place for him. He began to rethink this and decided to turn back. But there were people here, many of whom had already seen him. There was no doubt that the whole city would know about his being here by mid-afternoon. Rumors spread like wildfire.
Perhaps if he turned back now, he could say that he'd never been here, that these people had been hallucinating. The gases from the reactors had seeped into the air, the air that these people were now breathing. Perhaps, but no. There was no way that all of them could have had the same hallucination. The idea in itself had already become ludicrous, and he quickly dismissed it.
There seemed to be no other solution other than entering the building before him. Why was he here again?
"I know who you are."
"Do you?" he asked. This was one of his few experiences with someone like her. He was told that since they did not yet know or use more intricate words, he would have to speak to them at their level. And that was very low at the moment.
"Uh-huh. Mommy and Daddy say that you do bad things. You don't go to church either." She was tilting her head very far back.
"They are right." He nearly laughed. She couldn't have been that old, perhaps eight or nine, but she had more courage than those more than quadruple her age, if she really did comprehend the things that he'd actually done, that is.
"But why did you do those things?"
"It is my job."
"But don't you ever feel guilty? Whenever Mommy and Daddy feel guilty, they go to confession." He had a vague idea as to what 'confession' was, by the word alone. He wasn't about to admit to that though. "That is them."
"Maybe you should try it. Mommy and Daddy always feel better afterwards. Maybe you will too." She was smiling at him, something he didn't particularly like. Her father, who'd been standing to the side until now, had come and grabbed her hand. He mumbled an apology while walking away with her. She turned, waved and smiled.
He knew, somehow, that girl would be trouble.
That was why he was here. That girl's suggestion. He had looked up the word confession, just for the hell of it, and found one of it's definitions to be: 'The confessing of sins to a priest, as a religious duty.' He wondered why someone would actually want to disclose the things they'd done to another.
Nevertheless, it was still annoying him, this girl's words, and he could find no other way to get them out of his head. He walked up to the double and placed a hand on them. He started to wonder id he would actually be allowed into such a place. 'Well, no time like the present to try.' He pushed them open with little force.
As he strode inside, he took in the many features: the pews, almost ten on each side and about ten feet long, the stained glass windows that decorated the side wall with their depictions of men, and the altar in the back. A book stood on a stand, which he supposed was the 'Bible.' Though he'd never read it, he'd heard of the stories told within, of the mysterious and wonderful things done by an ethereal being called God.
There were four people in the pews, all praying. An elderly couple sat towards the front, a young man near the back, and a teenage girl in the middle. He heard a door open to his left, and out came a man in his fifties or sixties, holding a candle in his right hand. When the man saw who his visitor was, he nearly dropped the candle. Almost, but did not. He swallowed hard instead, and made his way over.
Setting the candle down on a side table, he spoke, "What can I do for you sir?" He was almost reluctant to speak; this was not a person he really wanted here. But he knew that as a servant in the House of the Lord, he must welcome all, as all were indeed welcome. The man spoke, his voice deep yet melodic, "I am here to make a confession. Am I to assume you are a priest?"
"Yes. I am Father Patrick Daniels. If it is a confession you want, please go over there." He pointed behind the man. "If you sit in the booth on the right, I will be there momentarily." He strode over and entered the booth, closing the door behind him. Father Daniels wasn't fool enough to tell this man that he was too busy to take a confession that morning. Especially to someone like that.
Father Daniels decided to hurry to the confession booth. The sooner he did this, the faster he would be done. It puzzled him as well, that such a man could want a confession. He sat down on the bench inside and closed the door. He took a deep breath and exhaled, as though it might actually help. Gathering up his courage, he began.
"Holy Lord, please forgive this man for the sins he has committed, and accept him into your Light, the Light of Heaven." He stopped then, and looked to the adjoining booth. There was a wooden screen of sorts that divided them, but Father Daniels could still see the man on the other side. "Tell me, what are the sins you have committed?" The man looked at him, "You know the things I have done. There is no need to ask."
"It occurred then, to Father Daniels, that this man had probably never gone to a confession before. "That may be so, but the purpose of confession is to admit your sins to God. To do that, you must say them aloud. You must find it in yourself to forgive. Once you have achieved forgiveness from both God and yourself, then you are cleansed from your sins."
"And how am I to know when I am forgiven by God? I doubt that he'd come and tell me."
"That is why I am here, besides to help you along the path of forgiveness."
"How am I to know that you won't lie to me that I am forgiven when I might not be?"
The priest sighed; this was going to be harder than he thought. "I would not lie to you my son." Those words seemed to make the man angry. "I am not your son." The tone of his voice made Father Daniels pale. "Forgive me, it is simply habit. But do bear in mind that you are still a child of God, and God forgives his children."
"Then maybe I was the one disowned."
'Does this man know nothing of God or Religion?' Father Daniels thought to himself. "Nonsense. No matter what the sin, you are and will always be one of God's children. He is forgiving, and he is loving."
'Loving, hmm?' The man was about to say something, but the Father spoke first. "I have a feeling and I know what you are going to say, that you do not believe that he loves you. But he gave you life didn't he? He's given you the freedom of choice, hasn't he? You chose to do the things you have done, haven't you? You decided to listen to the one who employs you, didn't you?"
Father Daniels could feel that old backbone coming in for a second, but the moment he'd finished he suddenly remembered to whom he was speaking. He expected the man to lash out, possibly kill him where he was.
But the man did not lash out. Instead, he was pondering the old mans words. It was true, he knew, that he willingly carried out his orders, but that was his job, was it not? And it would be hard to just quit, because the company that he worked for, the employees knew, would terminate them.
And when they terminated someone, that person was terminated.
The same went for if you refused to do your job correctly because you didn't want to do it. But it wasn't like they would try to kill him, would they? No one was that stupid. 'Wait, I take that back.'
His train of thought was interrupted when a crowd of people were heard entering.
"Oh my, how time flies. That would be the morning crowd." Father Daniels said, relief laced in his voice. "If you will excuse me, I have a mass to get on with." He left the confession booth, but added as an extra thought.
"Think about what I've said."
Oh yes, he would. He watched as the Father left, then exited the booth himself. he could feel eyes on him almost immediately. He ignored them, and looked to the pieces of art work that he'd seen before. The windows, which were the most prominent, depicted scenes of His mercy, His love, His forgiveness, or so he'd been told.
He'd read some of the things that past sinners had done. Had He forgiven them? Truly forgiven? He wasn't sure. 'Some sins connaot be forgiven, I suppose. And at this point, it doesn't matter. 'Or does it?' Those thoughts were washed away as he turned, as he saw the one who had started this, who had gotten him in this mess in the first place.
That damned little girl, smiling in all her glory.
I've been working on this for nearly a year, doing little bits and pieces here and there. I had lost it for some time, but managed to find it and finish it. This piece could be meant for any of the sinners in FFVII, but I wrote this thinking of my favorite one, Sephiroth. On the paper I have this on, I had this: 'And from her lips she uttered: "Good Morning, General Sephiroth."However, I decided not to put it in.
As aways, reviews are welcome. Flames will be equally met with my flamethrower.