I walked into a local church, feeling the need to confess to someone about what I had done. I was still dressed in a red tee shirt, denim short shorts, and my favorite pair of black stiletto heels. Mike may have been a cheating asshole but he probably didn’t deserve to die. Have his nuts cut off…maybe; but killing him may have been a tad extreme. I noticed one of the priests getting ready for confession so I opened and entered one of the wooden doors, earning me a few looks from some of the other people in the church. I guess my outfit wasn’t something they usually saw in such a sacred building. I had never formally been to church- Mom was always changing her mind on religion and Dad was always at the police station. But God hears, everyone right? To say I was nervous would be the understatement of the century. I took a deep breath as the priest sat down on the other side of the confessional and slid open the little window between us. After asking for forgiveness, like I had seen in many movies, I jumped right into my story.
“I don’t know where to start, so let me get to the good parts. You might want to cross your legs. I’ve got envy, I’ve got greed, anything that you need and I’m not above having to beg. You see there was this boy and he tore my heart in two, so I had to lay him eight feet in the ground.” I adjusted myself so I was now leaning against the hard wooden walls of the box, staring through the little window into the box where this religious man sat listening to me.
“Father, there is one other thing, just one simple request. I hear you know God. If you could give him a nod in my direction I would be in your debt. I didn’t want to do it Father, but I caught him with another woman in the bed I made him. So I put him in a grave and now there’s no one to get me off when I want. It’s a drag. The next day on the television they identified him by the marks that I made and now I’m on the run. Why did I have to kill him when he was the best I ever had?” I got up, leaving the priest to mull over everything I had just told him, hoping against all hope that he wouldn’t say anything to the police.
I walked out of the church with a smile on my face, not because I felt better about what I had done, but because I had just relived the whole thing by telling it to the priest. My work would definitely give the police a hard time. I wore gloves, eliminating any opportunity for new finger prints. I also used bleach when cleaning up the scene, disintegrating any DNA left in the blood stains and burnt the mattress to insure that they did not find any evidence.
Recalling the damage I did to Mike’s body made my smile shift to a grin that, I’m sure, scared the people I passed on the street. The image of Mike’s body, with the seven stab wounds, each allowing his blood to diffuse the smell of salt and rust into the bed room, filled my mind. I made sure none of the wounds were fatal, since the moron had inhaled enough allergens that afternoon to kill a man twice his size.
When he excused himself early from dinner, I couldn’t help but tap my fingertips together under the table. Everything was going according to plan. When I went upstairs, to make sure he was okay of course, the cheating son of a bitch had passed out from lack of oxygen. It made it so easy to carry out my plan. I hadn’t needed to worry about someone hearing him scream or him fighting back. I sank down onto my front step, sighing at the warm feelings I got from revisiting that night.
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