Confession

She is tied to a rack. The ropes at her wrists and ankles dig cruelly into her skin. Her fingers and toes have long since gone numb. She barely notices. This is as it should be.

Figures move in the shadows around her, checking her bonds, adjusting her garments, preparing her. Somewhere in the darkness beyond, she hears the sound of the bloodman’s knife on the sharpening stone. She relaxes into it.

“When I was nine, I stole two rolls from the bread lady. Times were hard, and we were hungry.”

The words tumble freely from her lips. She is not ashamed of her sins, does not fear her penance.

She holds nothing back.

“Two years ago, I spoke false words against a friend. She died. I did not.”

“Once I kicked a dog. It had done nothing to deserve it, but I was angry.”

She has found the rhythm of confession. One sin to six strokes of the bloodman’s knife on the stone. Her sins are many, and so the confession lasts for hours. This penance will be harder than most. She may not survive it. But she *will* welcome it.

These are the first words I’ve written and published — in any form — in months. As per my usual style, the content is somewhat dark (and so my wife will undoubtedly hate it), but not so much because it’s a reflection of my current state of mind (though it certainly could be, given my present state of affairs). Rather, the image of a woman giving confession while a priest — of sorts — prepares to offer her penance with his blade is the first that sprang to mind when I saw the video below some weeks ago.

My usual practice with micro-fiction of this type is to take that initial impression and follow it until space (1024 characters) runs out. This story, as it happens, uses every bit of that space, and so is shorter than I’d like. I was forced to cut details that would have fleshed out the scene and circumstances of this young woman’s confession, details that I think likely would have enriched the nature of her situation and added depth to her choice to give confession.

I don’t have it in me to feel bad about shortchanging my character this way, however, what with this being my first foray back into writing in quite some time. It’s also possible — nay, certain — that I borrowed no small amount of inspiration from this story that appeared on Tor last month. In any event the ideas are so entwined in my own mind that I see no reason to flesh this particular idea out any further. It’s enough for me right now that I’m back writing again.

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