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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.

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.”
 
 

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