Confession

Originally published in Kamena Magazine


An excerpt

He’s back again. The scrawny one whose hands shake when he speaks, even when he tries to hold them tight in those white-knuckled fists of trepidation. He starts up the steps towards me, reaching out with one hand as he says,

“Father,” but he’s come at the wrong time today.

I turn to face him from where I stand on my grey concrete slab, under the grey concrete sky, in the back alley of this middle-of-nowhere concrete place.

“It’s the uniform, isn’t it?” I ask him.

He stops, and I can see the confusion manifesting on his forehead. This isn’t what the priest is supposed to say. I can see him thinking it, looking at me with those wide, reverent eyes.

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