The Confession

Entering the darkened church from July’s sunshine splendor outside, my eyes were useless. Weary from travel, out of practice in Catholicism, I made my way toward darkened cubical shapes at the chapel’s side.

Sitting, I heard a voice come through the wall.

“Is someone there?”

“Yes,” I croaked back, lifting my water bottle to wet my throat.

“Forgive me father, I have sinned,” the voice commenced while I drank, “I have killed again since my last confession.”

My eyes wide, heart racing, water spilling, I yelled, “Wrong side!” as I ripped aside the curtain and dashed out the cathedral door.