Crooked Man Dying

Note: contains brief discussion of sexual and other violence

Crooked Man Dying

"...man is unique in this way. He has passions, but the passions can be conquered by reason and by the will. Will you repent of your ways, in your final hour?"

The chained man reclined, sure of his own guilt and relishing in it. "Father, I have done nothing right, so why am I in these chains?"

Sarcasm, then. "Sincerity is not to be devalued. There is still some good in you; you have not yet met the devil."

"I am the devil," he mused absentmindedly, checking his fingernails.

"Oh, are you now? Then let me ask you: what are your motivations behind you actions?"

"Well, I kill people when it is convenient for me, I rape because it is pleasurable, and I torture because I hate."

This was a tragic case, and very little could now be done.

The chained man sat up, leaned in closer. The priest did not flinch. "Do you love me, Father?" he rasped, his voice low and sultry.

"You know I love all men-"

"But I can see it in your eyes, I can see the hate."

"You lie, or you are mistaken. I do not hate you."

A crooked grin formed on the chained man's face. "But if you truly loved me Father, you would let me free. Why do you stand by and watch me die?" Delivered with a dramatic crescendo.

It was necessary to shock him with cold truth, anything to shatter him and pull him out, broken, before his time was up. "I do not merely allow it. I condone you death. I would kill you myself if necessary."

A surprised frown quickly shifted back into more sarcasm. "Father, you flatter me." Or was it genuine?

"You do not know what love is, that is why you talk nonsense."

"Sure I do!" Another, crookeder grin appeared. "I loved my grandmother."

Well, maybe here was something to work with, but the priest didn't trust that smile. "Tell me about her."

"With pleasure." He cleared his throat. "She divorced three times, never stayed with one man more than a year. She was a prostitute in her youth, but eventually she got too old. Besides, she couldn't stand the men that would ask for her services. Pathetic, she called them. She subscribed herself to a life of pain, self-inflicted pain, which took many forms. She hated her children, she hated her husbands. She hated everyone, and she showed it, too. She separated herself from everyone in her life at any possible moment. She would tell nurses that helped her they were fat, that they would never find love. She would kick homeless in the street. She would beat her grandchildren for the slightest disobedience, or even just when she felt like it. She hated me, and I hated her, with a burning passion. So, when I was seventeen, I killed her." And that was the end of the story. Horrible.

"You said you loved her; now you say you hate her."

"It's all the same, really."

"No, no it's not. Love is not another word for hate."

"So what then, Father, what is love? Because I sure do hate all the people I love."

"Sacrifice."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course. Just as you would sacrifice me?"

Dismayed, the priest shook his head, crossed himself. "If only you would sacrifice yourself."

"But why, Father, why would I do such a stupid..." he bit the word off, "...thing?"

"In service of others."

"Yes, yes, but why?"

"For the other."

"But why?"

He really did not see it. Was he totally blind? "The answer you are looking for is 'because I...', but there is no 'I'. There is only the other."

"Then you truly are lost, Father."

Oh, the tragic irony. It made the priest sick with grief, but now was not the time to show grief. "God has given you one last gift, and that gift is the electric chair. It is the greatest gift you could pray for. It is your cross."

Sudden fury exploded out of the chained man, and the priest crossed himself once again. "You speak of looove, and how I am nonsensssse, and then yooou say such NONSENSE? I am a reeeasonable man, do not fooool me FATHER. All nonsense, nonnnsensssse, this love-speeeeak is all NONSENSE! YOU HAAATE ME!" Then, quieter, "Hate me, will you?"

"That I cannot do." Stoically, the priest arose, guards ushering him out of the cell, but before leaving he turned, stared pitifully down at the man in chains. "For the sake of all men and yourself, you must be destroyed. You must meet God."

The priest watched in horror as the man in chains spluttered and raged against his chains, conquered by his passions, writhing like a snake.

An animal.

***

The chained man stood naked and unchained before the throne of God. He cowered. The light from the throne was unbearable. Eyelids could not cover what was un-coverable. He had caught a single glimpse of what was on that throne, and it was enough to send him running. But burned forever into his memory would be that image. The image of an outstretched hand.

He ran and ran and ran, but the intensity never grew dimmer. Frustration mounted like an imminent glacial event. He slipped into a cave, a crevice in Heaven's walls. Still, the light found him.

"Child," came the voice, soft and soothing to those who welcome it. But it was not welcome here.

The crevice opened into a tunnel, and that tunnel into a wide expanse, and there was the throne. The man ran wildly for the edge, his eardrums thumping. Thump, thump, thump.

"Child."

He threw his body over the precipice of Heaven, fell for an eternity, and landed in a bruised heap. He had hit a butterfly, who picked itself up, unharmed, and continued on its way.

"Child."

The brightness never diminished, never wavered. He ran for the next precipice, and fell for a second eternity. And again. And again. He seemed to be under the false pretence that Hell would be any more bearable. Actually, he was in Hell the moment he started running.

Running like an animal.