Confessions of a Sinner

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Bless me father for I have sinned…bless me father for I have sinned… bless me father for I have sinned… bless me father for I have sinned… bless me father for I have sinned.

What comes next? Oh my God! I can’t remember it. It was suppose to verbally flow out of me. I had practiced over and over. I slightly dropped my hands from the stiff prayer like position, just enough to look toward my feet. Like if some how it was written on the floor and if I looked hard enough it would magically come to me.

The line of children in front of me progressed forward a step, all in unison, such good kids, holy, on their way to a divine heaven, no doubt. I on the other hand held back, reluctant to take that deafening step toward my own inner hell, which in this moment, was the catholic confessional. How close was I getting? Leaning to the right ever so slightly, enabled me myself to see the deep purple colored curtain that partially covered a hole in the wall. That’s where sinners went…into the deep dark purple realms of hell. And if you confessed all of your horrible deeds in a proper manner, the man perched on the other side of that hole, the great, wise, and replica of Jesus Christ himself, Father George Bertals, would then forgive you and grant you supreme permission to continue with your little, pathetic life.

Panic swept over me like a deep winter chill as a nudge from behind forced me to take a step forward. I watched as the curtain swung to the side allowing Hell to spit out a young girl. I watched her walk to a nearby pew and kneel obediently and begin saying her penance. Searching her face intently, I saw no signs of fowl play. Instead of comforting me however, this seemed to only add to my anxiety. With deep...

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...he “Ten Commandments, stupid”, I told myself.

Another step closer! Ok, Gods name in vain, which means saying, like “Goddammit”. Nope didn’t do that.

I keep holy the lords day. Church every Saturday night, sometimes on Sunday’s but Dad liked going on Saturday night because then we could get more work done on Sunday by getting up earlier. No distractions by having to stop and go to church.

I haven’t killed anybody, although I wouldn’t mind if Robbie Perrion just up and died. He was Mrs. Perrion oldest son, in high school already and a big bully that started everyone calling us Payeur-dog. I wouldn’t mind him getting hit by lightening like that cow did a couple a weeks ago.

Thou shall not steal. I haven’t stolen anything…before I could finish this sentence in my head…the stolen water pipes came to mind. Surely God would not hold that against me?

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