Page 48 of Forgive Me Father

Fuck women, go to work, and pummel a man bloody for looking at me the wrong way.

You tell me, does that seem like it would end well for a man with urges as violent as mine?

There’s something about watching your fellow soldiers bleed out in front of you that makes it hard to believe God is real. I strayed from His light, ventured into the darkest parts of my soul, and indulged every sinful urge. Facing death forced reflection I didn’t know I needed.

When there’s nothing left, you reach out to the big man upstairs—it’s instinct. But pretending I’m a man void of sin? That’s almost laughable. Listening to confessions, offering absolution as if it can erase the burden of evil—it’s always felt a bit ridiculous to me.

Yet, here I am, ready to cleanse the conscience of anyone willing to waltz into Saint Michael’s.

In Seminary, they made it sound so easy.

Serve God.

Repent Sin.

Lead a life of virtue.

Spinning the gold ring around my finger, I’m reminded that the weight of my promise to God can be suffocating at times.

A life void of sin.

Is any man capable of turning a blind eye to their deepest desires?

Does Kevin struggle with his own temptations? He never lets it show, always presenting a calm, unwavering front. I wonder if behind closed doors, he battles the same demons I do. If he’s found a way to quiet them, or if he’s just better at hiding the fight.

I almost wish someone would sin right in front of me just to prove they’re human.

It's really all an act if you look at it from my perspective.

I play the role of God’s hand while struggling with my own demons behind closed doors. They come to me for absolution, only to fall back into the Devil’s grasp by next week. It's all one big game.

The prize? Hopefully, an afterlife.

Many would think it's odd how I choose to view my own religion.

I see Catholicism as a tool to find peace, nothing more, nothing less.

If I die and there is nothing, at least I lived trying to be a better person.

Tried being the distinguishing word.

Pretending that I’m perfect, like some of these rich assholes, is impossible.

I lower my head as someone walks by the table I’m sitting at, trying my best not to be seen.

A new face like mine in a town this small?

They'd have my whole life story figured out from a few phone calls, I’m sure.

It’s almost hypocritical for a war veteran like me to preach about God’s will.

I stand at the pulpit, condemning death and sin, all while knowing what it feels like to take a life with my own hands.

What kind of man does that make me?

Am I as fake as the rest of the people of this town?

Taking in a sharp breath, the chill air hits my lungs, signaling the oncoming Autumn season.