The End Is Near

The Devil In Us

"So, where're we going first?" Trent asked. "I'm just gonna go home I think, I need to change before I go to mass." I replied. "Mass?"
"Yeah, confession. Then church starts about right after." I said, before looking at my watch. "Never took you for much of a church-goer. Last time I went with you was when we were kids."
"Catholic. I went every Sunday. They didn't have many churches on the island." I said, with a slight chuckle.
"I bet not. Want me to go with you?" Trent asked.
"Nah, I'm good. Gotta see Father Steven."

I've known Father Steven since I was just a kid.  The church took me in as an orphan when my mom lost custody for a few years. That's what happens when both your parents are addicts. Last thing my dad said to me before I was taken in by the church was "I love you." I guess they just liked alcohol more. Took my mom nearly my whole childhood to convince the courts to give me back to her.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." I began. I could sense little cracks in the wall. Just by his heartbeat I could tell it was Father Steven.
"It's been.. well, it's been a couple years since my last confession. They didn't have many of them on the island." I said, with a slight laugh. "My dad.. he used to bring me here, to this church when I was a kid. He'd sit in front of the cross and just pray. Me, well. I didn't know what to do so I just kneeled down next to him, fold my hands, and close my eyes. Didn't say much.. just listened.
My dad, he was my hero. Rubbed a lotta people the wrong way, got in a lotta fights. But he always got back up. That's what he did. Until he couldn't. But he made sure he was on his feet, fighting, when he finally fell. My grandpa, well, he was the real Catholic. I'm sure you would've liked him. When I was getting bullied in school, he said 'Keep your distance from those boys. They've got the devil in them.' Every once in a while, he'd say that about my cousins too. I guess they were a bit more wild and loose for his liking. Sometimes I did see the devil, but not in the bullies or in my cousins, but in my dad. When he'd get real pissed off-"
"Language." Father Steven said sternly.
"Sorry father."
"When he'd get real angry at someone, sometimes during an argument or a fist fight.. his eyes would just go dead. Nothing would be there. You'd see his hands shaking, almost like he couldn't control what he did next. My father, he wasn't afraid of anything. And the other person, they'd see that look, and they knew.. they just knew they had screwed up real bad. And when my father got to him? He'd let the devil out. And at the time, I didn't know. I didn't know what my dad was feeling. The anger he bottled up inside, waiting to let it out on some thug he'd catch on the streets. I didn't understand it. Not back then."
"But you understand it now, Matthew?
Perhaps this whole thing would be easier if you'd just tell me what you had done." Father replied.
I took my black-glasses, (which are what they call the glasses we wear when we go blind), out of my jacket and put them on.
"You misunderstand me father. I'm not seeking penance for what I've already done. I'm asking forgiveness for what I'm about to do."
"That isn't exactly how confession works, Matthew. What are you going to do?" He asked.
"Let the devil out."