Forgive Me, Father: A Short Fictional Piece

  (A man, never named, aged 19, is confessing his sins to a priest before committing suicide. Note: The priest never actually says a word.)

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Oh, don't worry, I won't go to Hell for it. I'm not Catholic. I just needed to talk to someone. Will you hear me, Father?

Jesus Christ, I hate that word. Father. For most people, it invokes a wonderful feeling. Hell, other men, they're close to their fathers. They have fond memories of all the usual male bonding: camping, hunting, fishing, sports. Not me. My old man beat the living hell out of me. Fuck, my fondest memories of the man are, in this order: That day he didn't take the belt to me for no apparent reason, and a month ago, when the old fucker was forced from this life. Honestly, I don't think he'd have gone any other way.

Sure. You'll say I'm a bad son. You don't understand what it was like, living with the old bastard. Every day, we would get whatever chores around the house done. I'd do my homework; I'd help Emilie with hers. We made sure that dinner was waiting, hot of course, and that he had a cold beer in hand the minute his boots were off. Didn't help most nights. He'd find something wrong with it. Off would come the belt. I took the worst of it; he could beat me to death, I didn't care, but I'd kill the fucker if he ever laid a hand on Emilie.

I wanted to turn down NYU last year, when they gave me the scholarship. I couldn't stand the idea of leaving Emile alone with him. I knew what he wanted to do to her. He tried to do it to me. I fought back, protected her, but I knew that if I left, she wouldn't be able to protect herself. I couldn't...they gave me six weeks to decide. Emilie finally convinced me to do it.

I knew he was going to go after her. Within a week, I got a phone call from Em. She was crying, she wanted me to come home. I was ready to board the next plane. Hell, I would have hitchhiked back if I could. But just as I was ready to book the flight, she changed her mind. Told me “I'll be ok. Don't worry about me. Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” She hung up after that.

I called back right away. His voice came over the line, said she was going to a friend's house, and dropped the receiver. I thought about calling the cops, but they were always fucking useless. Don't look at me like that. You know it's true. I put the incident out of my mind, but made plans to get Emilie with me on my next break.

When my phone rang again, two hours later, there was silence when I opened it. That's a fucking lie. There was the sound of someone being hit; I know that sound. Crying, pleading, a scream, another scream. What sounded like something being stabbed. I yelled my sister's name into the phone. The line went dead. There was no answer when I picked up.

I was on the next plane. Back in Texas in seven hours. Renting a car, speeding to the house. I called the cops on the way and they laughed at me. They fucking laughed. They weren't laughing when I called back from the house. Nobody was.

They said she was raped and murdered. They've been running tests on the evidence, but it's been two months. Besides, they just don't want to admit the truth. My old man was a model citizen, after all.

We were allowed to bury her last month. The dirt wasn't even over the coffin before my old man's body was found. They say he put up a good fight, that it looked like he fought back with whoever killed him. It was a pretty gory scene. There was blood everywhere. He'd been shot, stabbed, strangled. Whoever killed him was obviously wanting him to suffer.

You know the saddest part? They arrested my uncle two days ago, charged him with both murders. It's depressing, really. The cops really are incompetent, aren't they? Everyone knows who killed Em, and everyone knows I killed the killer.

I guess they won't get around to arresting me. I've confessed my sins, but they won't get the pleasure of ending my life. The last thing I'll do is deny them that.

I've got nothing left to live for.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

Reactions of a Spurned Lover to Voltaire

"This isn't a love song. I'm through writing those for you."
Oh why won't Voltaire quit playing in my head?
Why must his words be apropos for my life?

"You say you're at Mother's, but do you mean lover's?"
Dear God! Make it stop!
His voice will drive me mad!

"Are you in the amorous arms of another?"
Merciful Zeus! Is there no end?
I can't seem to find the off button.

"But all that I know is it's midnight and you haven't called."
Holy sweet Baby Jesus, I can't take anymore!
Please, have mercy, find the pause button of my mind!

Voltaire concedes, silence in my head.
Praise God, there is mercy in the world.
But wait, a clicking sound, a new track starts.

Through the screaming protests in my head
I can only make out one line on repeat
"I wait for the day when I'll finally defile the bodies of my ex lover's lovers."

Sweet Jesus! Voltaire did not concede
was merely switching songs
on the tortured jukebox of my mind

I sink, defeated, to the ground
You win, Voltaire. You have succeeded.
The soundtrack to my broken heart.

(I have quoted "Snakes" and "Ex-Lover's Lover" by Voltaire)

Fun With Poetry OR How I Spent My Valentine's Day

For those unaware, I am a student. One of the classes I am taking is a beginning poetry class. Today, in honor of Valentine's Day, the teacher decided to show us what I believe to be one of the worst seduction tools in history. Here is a poem called "To His Coy Mistress" by the poet Andrew Marvell.

       Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
        But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

       Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Yeah...definitely not what I would want my lover reading to me if he wants into the pants. After a long, torturous session of analyzing the poem, the assignment was to write another version. I chose to go with the female perspective. Here's my response to the piece: 

I swear I've told you a thousand times,

we could have eternity and still

I would not succumb to your charms.

You think pretty poetry will win me?

Think again. Your love will not put bread on my table

nor feed the babes that such love brings.

A thousand nos will not become a yes.

And if I must then so I shall

take my honor to my grave.

I do not love thee, but then you swear

I've led you as a dog on a leash.

I say again, I do not love thee.

Take thy poems and leave me be.

 

Is it any wonder that I'm single on Valentine's Day, as always? Or that I've spent the rest of the day jamming out to '90's pop? Nah, I don't think so. Just thought I'd share that awesomeness with you all.