The Father

Darkness Gun

Father Jameson grinned, pressing the cold steel barrel of the revolver into the child's temple.
 
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned..." the boy blubbered.
 
"Shudthefuggup." the priest rumbled, closing his eyes and taking another drag from his cigarette, "It's too late for that."
 
"He didn't know! He didn't mean nothin' by it, honest!" the mother cried from the doorway, taking a step forward. "He--"
 
"Back off!" the priest screamed, turning his gun to her, "Back off or I'll blow your brains all over the gawddamn wall!"
 
"Alright," she quavered, extending her shaking hands, "Alright, I didn't mean nothin' by it I swear, just don't hurt him. I'm sure we can work this out."
 
"Ain't nothin' to work out," Father Jameson muttered.

Using the gun, he brushed back a lock of his long blonde hair. He took the cigarette out of his mouth with a black gloved hand and, pausing a moment to consider, brought it down on the boy's cheek. The boy began to squeal, squirming and straining at his duct tape bonds.
 
"You bastard!" the boy's mother screamed.
 
She clapped her hands over her mouth almost immediately, a look of horror in her eyes. The boy was whimpering softly. Jameson closed his eyes. He got to his feet, flicking away the crushed cigarette. He turned the gun on her.
 
Dark Man"Whuddyou call me..." he sneered, his mirrored sunglasses flashing.
 
"Nothing, nothing, I didn't mean it I swear!"
 
"Say it again." he said, and clicked back the hammer of the revolver.
 
"No, please! I--" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face.
 
"SAY IT AGAIN!" he roared, raising the gun.
 
"Y-y-y-you're a bastard..." she croaked.
 
"There," Jameson said, lowering his arm to his side, "Now doesn't that feel better? Getting it all out in the open? Into the dry, clear air..."
 
"I-I guess..."
 
'Now why don't you tell me your name"
 
"Deb...it's Deb."
 
"Deb. That's a lovely name," he smiled, lighting another cigarette, "I have a question for you Deb. Would you like to answer a question for me?"
 
She nodded, her eyes fixed upon the boy.
 
"Do you know who else was a bastard Deb?" he asked.
 
Deb shook her head, her eyes were closed. Jameson used the barrel of the revolver to scratch his temple, then planted his tongue in his cheek and tilted his head to one side expectantly.
 
"No. No, I s-s-suppose I d-don't." She finally managed to answer.
 
Father Jameson smiled, and, lowering his head held his arms at his sides, his hands hanging limp.

"Jesus," he breathed, "Jesus was a bastard."
 
"No!" Deb dropped to her knees, her hands clasped in front of her, "That's horrible! It's blasphemy! It isn't true I tell you, it isn't true!"
 
The Dark Lord"Oh but it is my dear," he straightened, "It is! Consider this if you would: He was fatherless. He was homeless. He had nothing. None would take him in. The son of man, and nowhere to go."
 
"I-I don't understand." Deb sniffed.
 
"Oh but I think you do my sweet delicate little hog's ear purse. I think you do. For you were the innkeeper Debbie, you were the one who turned our Lord the Baby Jesus out into the cold cruel night to rot and die and suffer for our sins. You might as well have rolled him off a cliff. You may as well have punted him through a plateglass window." He began to pace restlessly, his voice rising with each syllable, "You were the Romans Debbie..you heaved the stones and hurled the spears and sentenced him to death with a rolling of drums and chorus of hate-filled cheers. If not you, your kind. It's your KIND that's the problem here! The heretics! The leeches! The wandering ghosts! If it weren't for people like you and your boy here, Christ might still be alive! He would still be with us, and he could rid this world of all the scum and filth. But he isn't here Debbie...he isn't here is he? He isn't here because YOU killed him. You all did! And now it's time to pay!"
 
"Please no! That doesn't even make any sense," Deb sobbed, "I don't even know what y--" a shot rang out and she stumbled back and into the hall, slumping to the floor.
 
The room was silent but for the ringing in his ears. He touched his chest. Four points. The holy sign. Only the penitent man shall pass. He dropped to one knee, breathing heavily. Then he rose, turning to the boy.
 
"Well." said Father Jameson, wiping a fleck of blood from his lip, "That was really something wasn't it."
 
The boy said nothing.

"But now," he grinned, unfastening the latch on his belt, "It's time for confession."
 
 
Photo Credits
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