Contrition

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

‘Your transfer is complete.’ He shifted uncomfortably.

‘Thank you, Eminence.’

‘I have heard your confession and trust your contrition.’ He paused. ‘ You know you can never return to that parish.’

‘I understand, Eminence.’

‘I encourage you to condemn your actions but forgive yourself.’

‘I shall, Eminence.’

‘Your path will be brutal; you must never again succumb to those appetites.’

‘I know, Eminence. I will not allow it to happen again.’

‘You are a young man, Father Nash, with a promising future. I see in you much of myself.’

The young man groped for words. ‘You are too kind, Eminence.’

‘Every man deserves a second chance, Father. Good luck with yours.’

Prayer

I give to you a prayer in eleventy-one words...

Thanks for nothing. How can I believe in a God that will let this happen? It’s a disgrace. And you say it’s all because you want us to learn to love you of our own free will. Bullshit. What are you, some kind of narcissist? Some self-aggrandizing egotist who lords his love for power over people who don’t know any better? I know what really happens with those second set of footsteps; you leave. I know what the dark night of the soul is; you abandon us. I know what you are; you’re a fraud. I doubt you; I doubt everything about you. And yet, I can’t stop talking to you...