Forgive Me, Father

"It is too late Father. That is no longer possible, for she is dead! When she came upstairs to laugh some more I took my revolver from the drawer and shot her, twice, Father. Once in the head and then once between her dirty, ever open legs. That is why I am here, Father, to seek God's forgiveness for sending a slut to him before he had asked for her."

The priest sat grey faced, his mouth dry and his heart racing. All his lessons from the seminary and from his Bishop about such possible confessional scenarios had flown from his mind and he prayed frantically for guidance.

"You must also confess to the police my son." The priest tried to take back control. "God can forgive, but only if you show true repentance by purging your sin and accepting the punishment of the law."

He wasn't sure if this is what he should say, but what else could he?

"Can you not give me absolution, Father?"

"You must first throw yourself on the mercy of the law, my son, only then may I intercede with God on your behalf."

"Then I must ask Him myself!"

The gunshot was deafening in the confined space, it hit the priest almost as if he had been shot himself, sending him bodily back against the rear wall of the confessional, and through the grill came a spray of blood and brains, followed by smoke from the shot, coils of acrid smoke as if Hell itself had joyfully opened up to receive its latest resident.