Forgive me, Father

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE OR SELF HARM, GORE, MENTAL HEALTH, VIOLENCE

Forgive me, Father

I love the Sunday mass. I loved the way my tiny town was buzzing with anticipation. I loved how everybody made time for it, how they would schedule their otherwise busy lives, just so we can all gather together. I loved how we would sing, sing, sing, with all our hearts, until the air run out from our lungs. I loved how then we would all get quiet, drop on our knees and pray. Some of us for forgiveness, others for love or luck… We would hold our hands, we would say “Amen’ together and then we would go for a cup of tea and slice of cake, and we would enjoy the afternoon, no matter how sunny or cloudy. Together. As a community.

I loved it so much it wasn't really a surprise when I decided to join the Seminary. Even less of a surprise when, the second I was finished with my education, on the very next day, I would run back to my hometown so I could join my tiny church, but this time, as a priest.

And now, I loved the Mass even more. I loved to be the one leading the songs. I loved the way our voices would mix together while we were pouring everything we have in the melody and the Psalms. I loved all the people who would come to us. Whether it was for shelter, for advice, or simply to escape the noise and annoyance of their busy lives, I always greeted them warmly.

Now, I do not want to say that I am the greatest guider there is, especially back then - I was still too young and unwise. And, besides, it is not my job to guide - this is God's work, not mine. I was, and I still am, merely a listener, silent and kind. I would spend hours in my booth, and I often do. Sometimes I would just sit quietly in the dark, other times I would cite Psalms together with the poor tortured soul, until they find peace again. Not too often, as it is forbidden, I would break the rule of anonimity and go to their side, as I could hear their painful cries and could not bear the thought of them sitting alone and drowning in their regrets. I would pray with them, and then I would pray for them and their souls, their families and the path they have been set on. I could not offer forgiveness, as I would never posses this mighty right, but I would always give them my compassion, as no sin was big enough to be punished with loneliness. And I still stand by my words, despite everything.

Yes, I was young. I was the youngest priest in my church. I did not have much experience, I haven't met as many people as my older brothers. I haven't seen much from the world. All I had was love and hope. Love for every soul that crossed my path, and hope that despite our sins, we would all live to see the light of day.

Not that any amount of experience could have prepared me, I don't think.

It was the afternoon after my beloved Sunday mass. Now, it was not the most appropriate action, but sometimes I would join the town folks for their afternoon tea, especially on days like this - it was the middle of September, but judging by the sun outside, the summer has no intention of going away anytime soon. And, well, I would be a fool to deny this present from God.

I was putting away the holy books when I noticed him. Come to think about it, I did see him entering before the Mass started, but he simply took a seat in the back and starred at the ceiling.. Well, seems like he remained for the whole ordeal.

But right now? He was standing in front of one of the paintings. Usually people were admiring those, but he simply seemed lost.

Well, duty calls. I left the stack of Bibles I had on my hands and approached him with a smile.

“Hello, my child.” His age was suggesting I would call him “sir”, as I could very well be his child, but etiquette was etiquette. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, Father.” My title seemed equally unnatural. “I think I need to make a confession.”

“Of course, my child.” Again… I've had people older than him confessing, but yet, with him, I had a terribly unsettling feeling. “Follow me.”

He nodded, almost as he was just now realizing what he was about to do, or perhaps what he has done, and slowly entered the booth. I noticed a wedding band on his hand and was wondering whether that would be a story of adultery.

“I'm not sure how to start.” Usually, hidden in the dark, people would get braver, but he sounded like he was withering away.

“You can start however you feel…”

“No! No. There is a proper way. Words that have to be said. Please.”

“Al… Alright. You can start with “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Then you state the time of your last confession, and then - your sins.”

“It's.. Quite a long list.

“It's alright. I have all the time in the world.”

“Okay… Here goes. Bless me, Father for I have sinned.. Like that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Bless me, Father for I have sinned… And forgive me, Mother, for the man that I've become.”

Not the official routine, but the church was no place of judgment, and I was definitely not a judge.

“I didn't mean to. Do you believe me, Father? That I didn't mean to?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Oh.. Last confession time, right. I haven't actually done it. I guess that this is something you could add to the list of sins. Actually, how should I list them? From big to small? The grave offences first?”

“You.. You can go anyway you want. As long as your heart is pure…”

“Oh, my heart is far from pure. It's rotten. I am sometimes wondering whether I should get an X-ray, just to see if it's as scarred as it feels.

Nevermind. So, about my sins. You could say that I'm a Renaissance sinner, you know? I've done them all. Ha.”

I wanted to say that the noice which came out of his mouth was laughter, but it was so empty and chocked, for a second it made me wonder whether I'm actually talking to a human being.

“I did it all for them. At least I want to believe that I did it all for them, but… Oh, fuck it. It's the end of it, I might be honest at least at the end.”

“You know, I had a lovely wife. I've met her shortly after I graduated college. I was a skinny, sickly man, devoted to my science more than anything else, and she was a beautiful girl with a bright smile that made me forget everything about microscopes and laboratories. I guess that this is when I first discovered Lust, you knows because I would have her any day at any time. I would drown myself into her silky hair and soft skin. Almost gluttonous, when you think about it.”

“I didn't have money for anything spectacular then, but I was really brilliant in my researches, so very quickly I managed to find a job, and a project. Not the best payment, I'd say, but it allowed us to move to a better part of the city.”

“Anyway. I was working on this project, we were creating a new drug for high blood pressure. Honest work, one might say, until one day, I've discovered an interesting side effect - it was slowing down metabolism, and it had a significant effect on cell aging.

And, oh, boy, was I proud. I ran to my boss almost immediately, and he was as happy as I was. And he gave me… Everything, actually. He organized for a new team, new funding, new job title, a raise.

Slowing cell aging. Could you imagine the uses? Could you imagine the effects? Could you imagine that I was getting to play God?

It wasn't long after that when I got my first paycheck, alongside a significant bonus. I bought my girl a wedding ring. I took her to one of those expensive restaurants. I ordered more food that I could eat. She did too. I proposed. She said yes. We used the same restaurant for catering on our wedding. It was romantic. We threw away most of the food after the event.

In the beggining we were only approved for a theoretical research, but my department quickly got the appropriate funding, and permits, for testing. First on animals, but then… In humans.

I noticed in the early ages of testing that something was wrong. The rats would simply become… Imbeciles. Aggressive, non the less. Like wild, blood thirsty animals.

I voiced my concerns, of course. A committee was called. They did reassure me that, of course, the results were not what we were expecting, but this is an experiment, and those are just rats. We could always pull the plug, if things got out of hand.

I got a raise, however. I went home, I had this uneasy feeling, I wanted to talk about it with my wife, but she welcomed me home with a positive pregnancy test, and, well… Those were just rats, right? And just an experiment? And my wife was so, so happy.

Similar conversation happened when we started our human tests. The only difference this time it was that the humans were doing unspeakable damage to each other. As long as they were awake, they would try to kill each other (if they were put together) or themselves (if they were awake).

I called for another committee. I got the same speech, and it was pointed out to me that only a couple of humans were getting hurt, besides, they were prisoners on the death row anyway, so at the very least they were doing something for they community, you know?

But I wanted out. The committee however pointed out that I am too knowledgeable and too precious. They offered me a raise. They told me to sleep on it for a bit, before making rash decisions.

I came home. My wife recently gave birth, we have already moved to a bigger house, but she was dealing with everything alone. She greeted me with a weary, tired eyes. I wasn't feeling to energetic myself.

She was tired. I needed to get out. I booked an expensive trip to Paris and we hired a maid. I made her happy. And… It was only prisoners and rats, you know? Vermins. Nothing too important.

One of the students in the research suggested that we mix the drug with stimulants, so we can attempt to counter the side effects. You know, classical medical decision - create a medicine to fix the sickness created by your first medicine.

Anyway, I agreed. I agreed, simply because I didn't care enough to not agree. I came home, placed an order for a new car, got one for my wife as well, and we decided to look into private kindergartens for our twins, as they were already three at the time.

I don't know exactly what we were expecting as a result, but mixing the drug with a stimulant led to the creation of the perfect soldier. They were highly aggressive, they slept less and less often, they required next to nothing in terms of food, or even shelter… They were extremely cost effective killing machines.

At least this is what I heard during the presentation from the military division that came and offered to buy, pardon, fund the experiment.

I came home. My wife asked for a divorce. For the past few years I've been consumed by the work that's paying her expensive credit card bills and cars. She fucked the gardener, she told me. Our children were just starting second grade.

The next day I came back and I accepted the funding. My wife was leaving, sure, but at least I get to keep the kids, and, well, I wanted to give them the good life, you know? And I wanted them to have a good life. Easy life. Not having to deal with the bullshit that I've dealt with.

So I said yes. I've perfected the formula. I created legions of brain-dead serial killers. No chance of desertion if you don't know your own name, or how to speak, you know?

Then the military took over the entirety of the project. I started losing access to my work. I discovered that I was fired when one day my access card simply didn't work, and later on I received a severance check in the mail.

Wasn't long after that when I started drinking. We lost the house. My children had to switch from private school to public. My son ended up in juvie for drug possession and distribution, and my daughter… Well, I haven't seen her in years, you know.

Ironic, don't you think? It's true what they say, that the path to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

I… I didn't think, period. The church was no place of judgment and I was no person to judge, but I was simply frozen. I started to formulate an answer in my head, some words of encouragement, some way to calm him down…

And it seemed like I've waited too long, because the thing that got me out of my trance was the gunshot that came out of his booth.

—

I used to love the Sunday mass. Now I live in a monastery, far away from the world. We have a small garden. I take care of that. I eat simply, only with foods that have been grown on the grounds.

There is no Sunday mass. There is no mass at all. But I pray. I pray every day for every lost soul on this Earth, I pray with everything I have. I pray until my lungs collapse, I pray until my lips turn blue. I pray until tears soak my clothes.

And then I pray a bit more.