peccable
[ pek-uh-buh l ]
adjective
liable to sin or error.
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The man
that sat down in the small booth was black.
Not the deep brown of a person of African descent, but the color of obsidian. Of a raven’s feathers. Pure, jet black. Father Michael tried not to react to
this. His years of hearing confessions
had trained him to not react to anything surprising. A seven-foot-tall, pitch black man put these
skills to the test.
“Forgive
me, Father, for I have sinned.” The man said.
His voice was deep and rumbling.
It reminded Father Michael of a rock slide. “I…I don’t think I’ve ever been to a
confession.”
“That’s
fine. Not everyone is ready to clear
their soul of sins.” Father Michael
said. “Tell me what you have done, and I
shall help absolve you.”
The
large man let out a sharp breath. “It
may not be as easy as you think. It’s…bad.
I’ve been around for a while and done a
lot of bad things.”
“I’ve
also been around for a while, and I’ve heard quite a bit.”
“Not
like me.” The man paused and leaned his
head against the back of the booth. “How
old are you, Father?”
“Me? I’m 57.”
“I’m…older
than that. A lot older.”
Father
Michael raised an eyebrow. Other than
his height and odd skin color, he looked no older than 30.
“Oh?”
“Let me
put it this way. I was here for this
country’s birthday. And no, I don’t mean
Independence Day. I mean the
birthday. As in, the day of its
birth. I was there for that. Didn’t see it personally, but I was around
when it happened.”
“It’s
not good to lie, you know.”
“I’m not
lying. Not this time. Not about this. I’m old, Father. Very old.
You can tell I’m not normal just by looking at me. You think my skin is natural? No, no it is not. I’ve done a lot of bad things in the
centuries I’ve been around.”
“I…see.”
Father Michael said. He did not, in
fact, see. He had no idea what the man
was talking about. He could tell the man
was unusual, but centuries of life? That
was a new one by him.
“It’s
not good to lie, Father.”
The
priest sighed. “I suppose I deserve that
one. Well, if you are telling the truth,
and I’m not convinced you are, why now?
Why come to confession now?”
“Don’t know. Well, no, that’s not true. I do know.
It was something I did. Like I
said, I’ve done a lot of bad things. But
yesterday, I…I did something even I’m not proud of. I hurt someone. Now, I’ve hurt people before. Hurt more people than I can count and killed
just as many. Never thought much of
it. But this? This time was different. I don’t know why, but it was.”
“Who was
it?”
“A
girl. She couldn’t have been more than
fourteen. That wasn’t what got to me
though. I’ve hurt kids before. Like I said, I’ve done a lot of bad. But this one.
There was something about this one.
It was her eyes. The way she
looked at me. Not hurt, not anger. I’ve gotten used to those. It was…acceptance, I think. Like she was okay with what I did to
her. She just sat there and took
everything I could dish out. I…I didn’t
know what to think about that. I still
don’t. It got to me. Got under my skin. And suddenly, everything I’ve ever done comes
back up, and I can see. I can see every
bad thing I’ve done. All the things I’ve
stolen. All the people I’ve hurt. All the damage I’ve done. Everything.
I…coming here was the only thing I could think of.”
“I
see. Well then, it looks like you’ve got
a lot of unburdening to do. Tell me. Tell me all of it.
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I'm not sure if I would want immortality. Well, not true immortality. Rather, what I would want is the ability to control my age and how long I live. That way, I can live as long as I want and see the future as far as I want, and then die when I'm ready to. The best parts of eternal youth with...well, not none of the downsides, but less of them.
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