Warning: This work has been rated 18+ for violence and mature content.
For I have Sinned
Clouds roil about the sky, threatening rain. It's a sign. Demons must have risen from hell to witness one of their own entering a holy place.
My steps echo throughout the large room, the vaulted ceilings catching the sounds and casting them about the stone walls. The black flaps of my tailored suit jacket catch the breeze of my swift gait and brush against my swinging arms. Strands of my long, black hair wave across my face and I swipe them away. When I rub the arm of my blazer across my nose, the sensation is still foreign. How long has it been since I had a real face?
And, still, I could not accept it.
I lightly run my fingers over each of the pews as I pass by, perhaps hoping to glean some of the holiness gathered within the wooden frames.
I doubt it. Only heathens come into this place. These pews are filled with the darkness of murderers and thieves.
It even smells like sin. The scent of sweat long stained within the cushions of the pews mix with that of the old pages of the Bibles and hymnals that sit in the wooden shelves on their backs. Alongside the smell of the old structure itself with old mold and mildew in the walls.
Candles line the windowsills to drown it out but they do little.
All around me are stained glass windows of the saints. Before me, a cross with the figure of Christ nailed to it, a saddened expression pulling down at his features, tears of blood falling from his eyes. Above him, to his left and right are angels with large, flaming swords in their right hands and real, burning candles in their left.
Below the cross, a pulpit stands with a priest behind it in black robes and a red cross on his chest.
“Good evening, my son,” the priest says, his robes brushing the floor as he strides to greet me. Close-cropped white hair sits atop his head, styled in a modern fashion. His gray eyes seem to hold a tender warmth in them but also an icy sternness. But even with that sternness, this priest still holds fear in his crinkled brow and the hesitant walk he uses to approach me.
I wonder what it's like to be on the other side of the world. The side where all those ignorant, “blessed” ones live. Without fear or worry. Where people like me terrified them like something that had dragged itself from hell to bring judgment to those who were probably already headed there themselves.
I've been to hell. You'll never know hell. Satan has nothing on me.
I reach out my good hand to shake the priest's.
“Father,” I say, my voice deep and raspy, echoing throughout the ceiling. I glance at the two guardian angels, wondering if they heard me and were wakening to bring damnation down upon me.
After all I've done in my life, how could I fear the damnation of angels? Is there truly a punishment for me worse than the life I've already lived? Perhaps, the presence of fear is proof enough of this.
“And what may I do for you this evening?” The priest glances at his watch. I already knew what time it was. 8:05. The church always closes at 8:00. And someone always stays until the last moment. But the priest doesn't lock the door until 9:00 after he's finished his prayers.
“Forgive me, Father, but I could not wait until tomorrow. I must confess.” My voice sounds steady but I struggle within to keep the emotions at a slow churn. They threaten to boil over at any minute.
“Peace, my son. Please,” he says, gesturing his hand to the confessional at his right and towards the back of the cathedral. The polished wood gleams in the candlelight and the red curtains sway in the gentle breeze of the open window behind the small cabinet.
I could feel my nails bite into my palm and my teeth clatter as my jaw clenches shut. I stare at the little structure for a moment, allowing the feeling to pass.
“Father. I would rather speak face to face,” I say, without turning to him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the priest looks to the confessional and then back to me and then nods.
We make our way to the closest pew and he sits. I take the pew across the isle from him. He's only three feet away. Three feet. Does he know who I am? How close he was to the thing I had become?
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140,196 Literary Works • 673,040 Reviews
Hey Tyler!
Alright,I'm Casanova and I'm here to review your short story.
Bear with me, though, I haven't reviewed anything non-poem in a while so I believe that I may be a bit rusty on this. I'll try my best, and we both come out of this a little more informed, eh?
Okay- for me to start off. The good parts of the story.
For the most part your grammar is well thought out. Very controlled- you know what you're doing. That is definitely a plus.
Another good thing is you have a raw story idea. I thought it was just going to be another thing about a priest. The hook, the thing that got me, was,"How long has it been since I had a real face?" I mean- compared to other things this is definitely not the normal thing. It reminds me f the movie Dark Man for some reason. So props on that.
Now for the other section of the review- to every good work there or flaws(Or just minor nitpicks that I have about it.)
The FIRST thing that bothered me was the description. Yes, you have it. And it's good to have it. But there is a thing called over description, and you have it.
For example," My steps echo throughout the large room, the vaulted ceilings catching the sounds and casting them about the stone walls. The black flaps of my tailored suit jacket catch the breeze of my swift gait and brush against my swinging arms. Strands of my long, black hair wave across my face and I swipe them away. When I rub the arm of my blazer across my nose, the sensation is still foreign. How long has it been since I had a real face?"
This is a bit over done. It makes it seem as if you're trying to get every little detail possible into the description- and you're over doing each thing. Several adjectives for everything.. It doesn't seem REAL to me. Most people when looking at someone wouldn't notice all this- and that's what we try to envision- what we would see if we were there. Yes- describe what you want us to see. But try not to /over/ do it.
Alright, I do have ONE grammar nitpick(the only one that really stood out to me, but I'm tired.)
This line,"Before me, a cross with the figure of Christ nailed to it, a saddened expression pulling down at his features, tears of blood falling from his eyes." Is comma spliced to an extreme. I think revising it to be like this would be better,"Before me hung a cross with a depiction of Jesus's likeness nailed to it; a saddened expression pulling down his features and tears of blood falling from his eyes."
TO me that would fit better, and flow better. Then again- I'm a poetry buff. And I'm sorry for changing the words- it seemed(to me, again) to go better with it.
Anyway, in total this is a pretty alright story. I gave it a quick read- and it brought me back from just poetry so props on that. I saw your other story in the green room so imma run and do that one next, probably.
Keep writing, try to improve, and do what you want. You have potential, that much is clear.
Sincerely- Matthew Casanova Aaron.
My name is Gummy, and I'm here to review your work. As usual, I'll start by quickly homing in on the good news first and point out whatever I feel makes this piece stand out among its peers. After that, I'll try and see how I can help make this piece a better read for people like me... Because you posted this piece for people like me to read it, right?
Anyway, let's get right into the review. I have to say that the amount of description that you used in this piece is outstanding. I can clearly understand the image that the main character is displaying to the reader through text alone. This is especially true when it comes to the description of the church that the main character visits. I also find the concept of a demon wanting to redeem himself through confession to be a pretty interesting one.
I understand there is already a Part 2 for this story, but I wanted to review this story first before spoiling myself with the next one. My biggest issue with this piece is the cliffhanger ending. If the main character was the one who summoned the priest to talk face to face, I don't think he should be too surprised or to the point of feeling suspicious when said priest sits three feet away from him. I understand that he's a demon, but the story ends without showing direct proof that the priest knows this character's true identity. If you ask me, I'd at least add a short line of [controversial/shocking] dialogue from the priest before ending, so as to close the story at the highest possible point of tension.
So that's my opinion. I'm definitely going to read the following installments, and I'll even review them, if necessary. I'd say that I hope to read from you again, but I actually will this time, so it would be redundant to say so. Happy Writing, and have a nice day!