A/N: Okay, I don't know what it is with me and Catholicism lately. First Absolution and now this—but hey, I've gone to Catholic schools since I was five, so I say I can (and will) abuse this crazy little kink until I die. Besides, you know those uniforms Kairi and Selphie wear are so Catholic schoolgirl. Don't go denying. (They look a lot like my skirt, actually. I just don't get the cute little tie like they do.) So…yay Catholicism!
Inspired by the absolutely gorgeous Southern song we do for liturgical band, "Down In The River," which is seriously the best song I've song ever. Words don't do it justice. You have to hear it sung to really get it. Throw in a dash of Hamlet and a Zen Buddhist touch and some good ol' crack for good measure and you're all set. Review if you're inclined; it's fun!
Sinner
Sora has to adjust to being home. There's an entire list of concerns he hadn't thought about yet.
It is only when he looks up into the solemn, faithful face of his waiting mother that he realizes what he has done.
He doesn't remember the last time he prayed, and that's when he realized that he's been a sinner.
He was busy with Light and Darkness and the In-Between, and saving people and things and places and memories and promises and loves. So he hasn't had time to remember and revere his Lord or say his prayers at night or swear he's sorry for his sins with all his heart.
In a very businesslike voice, his mother tells him he has been summoned to the church's council, in front of the elderly bishops and monsignors and priests, to check upon his religious growth. Sora remembers that the church used to be his entire world, before the Light and the Darkness and the In-Between came. He was going to be confirmed, fixed in the faith forever before his world was destroyed.
He tells his mother not to worry, that he will go and that everything will be okay.
His mother only smiles wanly, and they don't discuss it any further.
---
He is told by the council to express, in finite detail, exactly what happened during his year and a half of absence. And Sora tells him the entire story as he remembers it: of his friends from all across the worlds; of the castoffs who took him in; of the darkness that ate at him and his friends; and the light that shone through at the end.
One of the priests declares the entire story to be almost nauseatingly pagan.
The others murmur in assent, and Sora knows he is doomed. He is stiff in his new suit, his hair slicked back from its usual unruly style. He has done his best to tell the truth, for he shall not lie, and he is to be punished for it.
One of the oldest, a wise and wrinkled bishop, steps forward.
Sora is declared to be religiously incompetent compared to other classmates his age. And so he is to be transferred into the remedial Sunday school classes—classes Sora doesn't want to take.
Those classes are for children who were raised not according to the Church.
Those classes are for heathens.
Those classes are not for Sora.
He tells the council this. But the council members all think that the Keyblade and the Light and the Darkness and the In-Between are signs that Sora has become a devil's plaything with his idle mind.
For the sake of Sora, for the sake of his eternal soul, something must be done.
They see Sora's fearful face, and they tell him they don't want to scare him.
They only want to save him.
---
So every sunny Sunday morning Sora goes down in the River Satori to pray, studying about the good old way. The way things have been done since the dawn of time.
Oh, sinner, let's go down. Let's go down, don't you want to go down? Come on, sinner, let's go down, down in the river to pray, says the teacher, a young man with brown hair and hazel eyes and a fair face, who always seemed a little overbearing in enthusiasm.
God is everywhere, the teacher says, but in His one true creation—within nature itself—He is better felt, He is closer than in the cities with their dancing lights and screeching sidewalks and humans all cramped together. That is not the way God intended for His children to live, Sora. That was not the way anything was supposed to be at all.
Sora nods because of course, anything the teacher says is very very important and if he doesn't remember it all, oh, he's sure to burn in Hell.
---
Sora's going to burn in Hell.
He can't remember any of these things. He doesn't know why, but the stories don't stick and the lectures go in one ear and out the other and oh God, God help him, Lord Jesus high above spare him, but he's going to burn in Hell forever.
Riku and Kairi try very hard to help him, but Sora's stuck in too many remedial classes. He's forced to learn too much all at once, while he's still trying to piece together memories from before. He's stuck trying to learn geometry and the second year of biology and sophomore English all in one summer, and there's the stories too, and oh, he's sorry with all his heart, but he can't take it all in without any of it falling out.
He just can't.
There's no method to this madness; there isn't.
He still goes down to the river to pray, still studies about that good old way, but somehow, it's not enough anymore.
---
Four weeks into his prescribed course, the teacher is summoned along with Sora to the council at the church.
There, Sora is condemned as incurably damned by his teacher, who says that all fear of God has left this heathen child, who says that nothing short of exorcism will weed the darkness out of his soul.
Sora refuses to let the exorcist's wrinkly hands touch him. He doesn't need exorcism, he doesn't. He's afraid of God, he loves God, he's a good, faithful child. But nobody knows it, not yet.
He hasn't been showing it well enough, he realizes.
And he comes up with a plan to single-handedly save his soul.
---
Every morning he goes down to the river to pray that the good Lord will show him the way to salvation. The River Satori is cold to the touch, glacier runoffs from a faraway mountain. He dives in and it feels like he's getting punched in the gut. He stays there long enough to say a rosary or two, faithfully, eyes upward to the sky.
I want to be forgiven, I do, I do, he thinks.
He prays for nothing else but forgiveness, because that's the only thing that's keeping him from being happy.
---
He's down in that cold blessed river every single day, water sloshing at his ankles, and he says every prayer in a reverent, devout voice.
He says at least a rosary before Sunday school starts, at least a rosary after.
---
He smiles and says he's going to be saved.
He smiles and says he won't burn in Hell anymore.
He smiles and says Jesus is going to save his impure soul.
---
But his mother's starting to get slightly concerned. He's coming home shivering in the middle of the summer. His lips are a little blue, his eyes are a little vacant. He's brushing all the questions away.
He smiles and says there's a method to this madness. And that it's not really madness.
"My God, I'm sorry for my sins," he says and says again, "with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong, and failing to do good, I have sinned against you…"
---
He's such a disappointment to the community.
He should love God above all things.
But the atonement, the punishment, the cold—it isn't enough.
It will never be enough.
He will always be a sinner, always, because he never remembers the good God has done for him.
---
He goes down to the river to pray, still studying about that good old way.
And who, he asks the Lord, who shall wear the starry crown?
He prays for the good Lord to show him the way, as he goes on down, as he comes on down to the river to pray for his forgiveness.
The good Lord will show him the way to eternal happiness, to eternal life. And he, a sinner, goes down to the river to pray, as he goes down to the river to float away.
As he goes down to the river to drown.
As he goes down to the river to die.
---
