Notes: I don't know where this came from. But it's sufficiently angst-full. Enjoy.
Though I do not deserve forgiveness, I plead for it.
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." I say as I sit in the narrow wooden compartment that would, in any other situation, be a good fit for an airing cupboard. My cross, solid silver in its making with a chain to match lay against my chest with the index finger on my right hand gently caressing its surface. My head fell forward as soon as I sat down and the hair that somehow managed to fall loose as I was making my way here fell like a curtain, covering my face from view of the open panel beside me.
"When was your last confession?" An aged voice that reminds me of my old priest asked from beyond the panel. I find myself wondering when exactly it was that I last stepped into a church for the sole purpose of going to confession.
"Ten years ago." My voice is hoarse and barely a whisper. I want to cry. Though I know I can't. "I put up a mask for my colleagues." I say. "They see a joker; someone who could talk for the entire Earth'spere. They don't see through the jester, and I can't blame them. Because what lies beneath is dirty. It's ugly, worn, damaged… it's repulsive." I laugh a low harsh laugh. "And who wants to be in the presence of something like that?" I hear shifting fabric beyond the panel.
"Child, do not put yourself down." Now I think I want to laugh a bitter laugh. But it would be disrespectful.
"I don't lie. Let's just get that fact out into the open now. I may run and hide, but I 'never' tell a lie. I do my job, go about my business like it's no one else's and therein lies my sin. My job isn't a hard one, but it's dangerous. I catch the bad guys, collect data, do all the things expected of me and I go home. I go home and I think. I think of the wars. What went on. What happened." I grasp the cross tightly in my hand, not even wincing when the corners break the skin of my palm.
"Things happen in war, my child. It is no one's fault." I shake my head from side to side, trying to ward off anymore comments like that.
"My crimes went unpunished. I fought for what I believed in, destroyed things when I was ordered to, infiltrated buildings when I was ordered to…" My voice broke to a mere whisper. "Killed people when I was ordered to."
"You were under orders…" The man behind the panel tries to placate me but how can I believe his words are true and just?
"I killed people. Hundreds of people. People with families, people with children waiting for them to go home and read them a bed time story. I fought for my cause, did what was asked. My comrades and I were hailed war heroes for it." I laugh another self-loathing laugh. "I may have been a lot of things, Father, but being a war hero isn't among my list." I sigh a broken sigh.
"You are who you are. Your past is just that, your past. You cannot change it, all you can do is live for the future. Live for what you believe in now."
"But I don't believe in anything. God left me when I was 8 years old. He took the two who were better parents to me than my actual parents, he took my best friend. He took an entire church. How could he take my friends? My family? Why should I believe he is looking over me when all he ever brings me is pain and heartache?" Tears threaten to spill forth from their ducks but they haven't yet. I am at least thankful for that. I will not cry.
"Everything happens for a reason, Child. If the Lord took his children at that time then it was their time to be with him." His voice is calm and soothing. I want to be told it will all be ok. I want to be told I'll get to see my old friends again. I want to be a child again.
But I can't.
"It can't have! He was 9 years old! What would God want with a child?" I'm crying. I haven't cried in ten years. God's what's happening to me? "Why couldn't he have taken me? Why can't he take me?" I'm sobbing now. My breath is hitching, my heart is wrenching, the wall I cocooned my soul in is breaking. I can't take it. "Why didn't he? I've taken the lives of his children. Surely I deserve to be taken to. Please." I fall to the floor of the small confessional compartment and cry.
Unabashed.
Uncaring.
Uncontrolled.
I'm crying. I want it all to end. The hurt within me. The fear, the self-loathing, the hate, the repulsive creature the war has turned me in to.
I hate him.
I hate myself.
"Because it is not your time, child." The priest beyond the wooden panel says quietly as if he too is trying to control his emotions. "Your loss was great but you were given another chance. You survived the war. You must live your life and do so to the fullest." I know; some place deep inside the darkest regions of my mind, I know he's right.
But I can't let go.
"Forgive me Father Maxwell; I know I must be a disappointment." I say as I stare upwards at the roof of the confessional compartment. "Forgive me Sister Helen; please, god forgive me for my crimes. I can't bare the thought of you hating me." I sob as I speak. I know the man in the next compartment is listening to me. I'm baring my soul for him to hear. I never realised I'd sunk to this depth of depression. "Solo. Oh lord, Solo. Please help me! I need you now more than ever."
I can't speak any longer as my tears, my sobs, my entire body is making is difficult for me to do so. I can't think straight. I'm curled up in a ball on a cold floor, shivering not with cold.
"Child." I hear as I fade from conscious thought. "The Lord forgives you of all your crimes and your family loves you." Everything is black.
x-x-x-x-x
"Duo." I'm being shaken. Who called my name? Why am I freezing?
The memories rush back with such a force that I physically jerk forward. Tear's start to pour down my cheeks again and I raise myself up onto unsteady feet.
I look around and see that I'm in an abandoned church.
How?
"Duo? Are you alright? What's the matter?" What indeed. Quatre looks upset as he brushed the hair out of my face. I know I look a mess. His wince only confirms the fact. Behind him I see Trowa giving me a concerned look. Wufei is beside him and he too looks concerned.
I feel my arm being lifted and rested on the shoulders of someone to my right. Seeing as Quatre is in front of me, the person to my right can only be Heero.
I turn to him and manage a weak smile.
"I'm forgiven."
My family loves me.
Written by Diluted Industry.