Something Like Shame (BWWM)

Prologue

Men and women of the jury,

the first thing of which you should be acutely aware is my unconditional love for her. Henna, a name as sweet as honey on my tongue. She breathed air into my lungs as if I were some pneumatic toy that could only be used through such a transfiguration. There was only one that came before her, but I dare not speak her name too early in this letter for fear of distraction. So I will start from the middle.

I left the church long before her path crossed mine. The man of the cloth that I used to be would have been ashamed of my corrupt behavior, but you all should know that my own vitality lay dormant during that biblical excursion. For a time, I believed that only prayer and depravity would solve my qualms; hearing the confessions of others through perverse ears, accomplishing those religious goals, and partaking in the holy sacrament with distaste. She helped resurface that awful joy of youth, yes, but the exit was only a matter of time and concealment. It was of my own accord. And, as all of you see now, deceit of this sort can only last so long.

By now, you all should also know that this murderer does not lack his knowledge. I've read memoirs and manuscripts aplenty (my father surrounded me with the works of Homer, Shakespeare and I had finished Don Quixote by the age of nine). Sadly, the second chance my lonesome Father bestowed upon me much like the globe Atlas bore upon his own shoulders was doomed to fall from the day it began for two reasons: the first being that a) children of this day cannot deign to even open a blasted book and the second being, once again, b) Henna- it will always be Henna.