The Confession of a Penitent

[Cally 344]

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"Forgive eam, Father"

"For Ea've sinned."

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               The boy rasped among his own fruition through his teeth- his anger boiled. Not for his dearest Mamej, or papej. . . No, that he was unfavored. 

 

"Good blessings, young Kortrevich. What is it that you say amongst the presence of our most Holy Godani's light?"

 

             The young Kortrevich snuffed in a breath, and his lips pursed over one another to. . . A quiet reminder to keep his composure. 

 

"Do vy believe in past lives, Reverend?" He asked, hushed. He couldn't show it. He just couldn't. Not the pain, not the anxious bubble in the gullet of his throat. It was too much, that confessional became a prison for his own thoughts to bounce off of the wall. Silver, discontent eyes of unfocused quarrels submerged the space in his sightless rays. He was frightened.

 

    Vladrik heard as the priest reclined in his wooden seat, hands woven against one another. Those ringed fingers of divinity rested to his knee. "Y'am niet against the thought of it, nie."  The Reverend answered simply as he drew a breath into his nose. Exhaling sharp. 

 

"Ea think ea must've done something in one of them. . . Something bad." The boy, continued with a quiver to his tongue. One that the pastor detected- and noted. "Be-because. . ." His voice broke, and he heaved out a sob in that pale candlelight. The church smelled of incense- and Vladrik always came home smelling of extinguished candles from passed sermons. He just couldn't find himself to leave the acoustic room, where he would hear everything.

 

"Mamej couldn'tve done this- not Papej. . . Eit had to've been me." He squeaked, and bowed his head so that his soft chin met with finer fabrics of velvet and satin. Something his father undoubtedly dressed him in. 

           

           "N-now Vladrik. . . I don't think that's necessarily- True. Godan has a reason for everything."

The boy shuffled in a breath at this, one that ran deep into his lungs and outward with a swoop- the Reverend was left confused as Vladrik left the confessional-

 

The boy sat to temperate stones upon the streets just outside of the church- his glasses discarded and dangling within his grasp as he sobbed. He looked to the clear, sky-radiant daylight. And those unworking globes blinked. . . They didn't sting. Yet he wished, and would have shed blood to ever have felt that pain. It only made him more upset- he shuffled to his pockets for a set of red, threaded prayer beads. And so he began his chant. 

 

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      He continued such prayer, for what was minutes to others meant an hour of him contemplating back and forth with the simple thoughts in his mind. The grip on his prayer beads tightened- and he sobbed gently to his elbow. Gentle sobs that turned to wailing cries- willing. . .  Begging. "P-please! What've ea done? To forsake vy?" His confusion and frustration directed itself to the skies- where there might lie a creator above them, in whatever form it might be. Yet he found it comforting to picture it as his father. His all-loving father. Tears, thick, glossy tears rolled heavily down his cheeks. "Ea just want to be good! Ea just v'ant to make him proud- Please. . . Ea'll do anything. . ." He talked to the air amongst him that housed no man, yet a listener; it might have. . .