The Sinners and The Saints

Chapter One

I look down at my blood stained hands, which are slick with sweat. Calm down Able. I continue grinding my long unpainted fingernails deep into my skin, creating crescent shaped disfigurations across the surface of my palms. The skin is broken in several areas, but I don’t mind, I find comfort in watching my blood seep through the cracks. My mother always rebuked me for this nervous habit, of mine. “Able,” she would say softly to me, “please don’t do that to yourself, it's mutilation.” I skim my thumb gently over the moon shaped scars, tracing the intricate paths which they have chosen. Some scars are loud and bulge boldly out of skin, while others are simply a whisper; an  undisclosed mark. A taciturn grin spreads across my cheeks, either way, bold or shy they are oddly beautiful.

“Hello young workers of God! I know you are all anxious to get up here and speak with Father. But we first must go over some ground rules, no swearing, no inappropriate comments...”

Her voice fades out, as I watch her move excitedly across the alter. Her long dark hair fans around her as she spins in circles, acting as if “ground rules” are the most riveting thing a person could speak of. I revert my eyes to my hands, watching the blood seep through the slits in my skin. I relish in the burning sensation as my salty sweat falls into a perfect tangent with my shallow incisions. My whole body becomes numb with the tender feeling. Maybe “mutilation” is not such a bad thing after all. I lean my head back, the bow of chin points to the tiles above. I breath in deeply, the air inflates my lungs, I let out a quiet giggle. No one really knows me, the things I enjoy doing, no one knows. I could never tell them. They would not understand. Therefore, this must kept between the protective walls of my skull. This must be something that is only spoken about in dark rooms with hushed words. This sensation, my private high, my very own drug.

“Able, come on honey,” I look up startled. A women tugs on my arm, I have been dragged away from my thoughts, back into reality.

“Oh no! Do you need first aid?” I give her a sharp look of confusment before recalling that I had been tearing away at my flesh.

“Oh, no, I...uh...” I trip over my words. The woman's condescending face is distracting me. Her brow is furrowed with both confusment and judgement. After an elongated pause, I settle on my words.

“Im fine,” I say and flash the women a confident smile, just before heaving my arm from her tight clutch.

Although, I soon realize I do not know why she was pulling me up from my pue so urgently. Everyone around me is moving swiftly in an organized wave, I let my body flow along with them. They pilot me, unknowling, towards the back on the Church where a single set of brown doors looms ominously over our heads. I am pushed forward by the girl behind me, I practically crack my skull on the wooden detailing. As soon as I regain my balance the door opens, wide. The women who pushed it stands over me smiling. Is the smile meant to be inviting? Either way I take it as an invitation into the dark room. I begin to walk, but soon find I cannot, I fix my eyes on room in front of me and urge my feet to move. Once I enter the room I swivel my body around to come face to face with women who possessed the inviting smile. Her eyes gleam with something unreadable.

“Don’t forget to begin with, ‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned’.” She spits the words out quickly then slams the door shut behind her, she’s imprisoned me in a tiny black room. When I once again swing my hips around; I notice that the room is not completely dark. A single dull bulb flickers above my head and even I have to duck to avoid being slapped with the string that pendulous beside it. Once my vision adjusts to the inky lighting I spot a wooden bench only a foot away from me. I do not know what else to do so I make my way towards it with muffled steps. I place my hand on it to test it for sturdiness, it appears ancient. Once I decide it is safe I wiggle my body onto it, it creaks loudly under my weight. My hand traces the wall to the right of me, I run my fingers through the intricate patterns, their tips dance higher up the complex wall feeling all of it’s crevasse until something stops me. The heels of my palms glide across the texture of a thick netting, I lift my eyes and to my amazement there is a narrow hole in the wall filled in with a strip of brown screen, the color of aged bark.

“Hello?” My words are barely audible.

“Hello,” A voice replys from the other side of the screen, the screen is speaking to me. The screen is a man, an old man, he has the rasp in his voice that is only acquired by one who has been on this earth for many years. Suddenly, after a moment of my jaw staying still the screen speaks again.

“Welcome to confession, please begin with the phrase ‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned’.” Hysteria bubbles up in my chest and slips through my throat, although I keep my jaw clenched, preventing myself from bursting into laughter. The screen is not speaking, but the Priest. I am in confession. However, I still do not understand why I must say “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” because I have not. The things I have done in my life may be considered sins by the Catholic Church but not by me. I do not need forgiveness from some man behind a screen. My thoughts drift to a story I was infatuated with as a child, The Wizard of OZ,  all the characters in that story were fools. They fell into the belief that one man could grant all of their wishes only to discover that The Great and Powerful OZ was simply a man hiding behind a screen. Well I am not about to do the same thing, I will not ask for forgiveness from one who is hidden behind a screen, he is simply a man, he cannot help me. Even if I spilt all of my secrets would there truly be any forgiveness, any redemption? No, there would not be, because just like OZ he is a fraud. I put my palms flat on the bench and spring my weight forward, walk towards the door with muffled steps and the sound of creaking wood behind me. Once I reach the door I place both my hands flat against the smooth surface and push. The door thrusts open, almost hitting the girl who pushed me to the front of the line. I cast a sardonic grin in her direction and saunter past the line of wide eyes.