In the darkness, all seemed hopeless. What was I supposed to do?
I’d done what I had seen done in countless films, gone to the confessional in the church.
I’m not a church-goer. I don’t know whether it would help me, but they always seem so relieved in the movies, like a weight lifted off their shoulders, then something miraculous usually happens and all is right again.
But nothing did happen initially. I came out, after pouring it all out to whoever was behind that curtain, still feeling full of guilt.
Sitting in a pew, I looked up at the cross ahead of me.
The night was drawing in fast, the setting sun casting long shadows across the whole of the church.
I closed my eyes. I wanted to cry. Maybe I just needed to shut my eyes forever.
That’s one way the guilt would go.
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