Confessions of a Clergyman

My name is Adolpus. I am not very poetic in my nature but I shall try to create a detailed account of my deeds for this:  my confession. 

For years I studied the bible and it’s teachings, weeping over the beauty of its worded leaves, the knowledge that it brought. My Father, a preacher, would often observe my studies, commenting on my softness of heart. Never venturing out into society like my fellows I remained locked away in the family home, immersed in all things Christian, away from sinful things so that I may remain pure and untainted.

            Father’s plans for me were to follow in his footsteps and for us to run the town’s church as a duo, preaching the Lord’s love to the people. 

But it was not to be.

On the eve of my twentieth birthday my Father developed a harsh cough. A week later he was bedridden. Unable to perform his duty as clergyman, he entrusted to me the occupation of his dreams and my dearest desirers.

I felt like I had died and gone to heaven, for want of a better phrase. No amount of words could describe the feeling. I loved the way people would come to seek my advice and blessings. I would help with wedding arrangements or conduct christenings. O, how I was delighted in seeing the eyes looking up at me as I read the morning sermons. Even the tiniest things thrilled me, the feel of the priest robes against my skin, the smell of the burning incense, the words of living people.

Never before had I felt so free!

But still after weeks of sickness, my Father was still to ill to aid me in my trails. For five months he remained in a state of death, barely even able to talk above a whisper. His frail body was weakening and I feared I would soon have to conduct my first funeral. My heart bled for my Father. I would spend countless hours by his bedside, reading the Lords Prayer to him; even more hours spent praying for his pain to end and health to return. But it never did. My Father, my mentor, my world, died on Friday the 13^th of October.

The funeral passed in deep mourning, with many failed attempts to comfort my mother and three sisters. I will always remember that day, the dark cloud and iron rain. I will also remember the people, their faces as they gave their condolence, the way their hands shook as they places flowers around the grave. But most of all I will remember the emptiness I felt, the hollowed heart howling with in my chest, screaming bloody agony.

A friend of my Father’s, a monk from a near by village, had come to help with the arrangement and to stay on for a while as Father had wished. When we were alone, in my office at the side of the church I confined in him my total sorrow, and the wish I had made on God to spear my Father.

“Now Adolpus,” He said to me. “You know the Lord does things for a purpose beyond are understanding.”

I knew he was right, but for the briefest moment I felt a serge of anger and hatred at the Almighty, that I couldn’t control.  But as with all grief, it never pass but softened and I learned to live with my sorrow.

A month after Fathers end, the monk Nathaniel gave me a small leather bond volume, which he said had been my Fathers diary. The fact the monk had this did not surprise me, for I have entrusted to him the task of sorting out Fathers affairs. But the monks face was grim as he held open a page for me to read. All the air in the room seemed to evaporate when I saw he features, and heat washed thought-out, as I read the words:

 

“Valencia wrote to me this evening to inform me of the birth of her child, a son. My joy in having a child at last could not have been more short lived as with the news that my wife, Ann was also expecting. God guide me!”

 

Throwing the book down in hate I stormed from the office and scream at the alter before me, cursing my Father. And it was hear that I broke the first commandment. I vowed to dishonour my “Father” forever.

Some thought my new vows was just a way of copping with the grief of my Fathers death, a way for me to deal with his passing, by forgetting about the man I had once loved. As for the matter of my Father’s son, I had told no one and asked Nathaniel to keep his council. But the matter still tortured me greatly. No longer morning over my Fathers passing I made it clear to everyone that his name ort not be mentioned to me. I discarded his portrait into the fire, screaming at my mother to silence her woes. When she asked my why I burned his image I told her that all images of him should be sent where he was-to hell.

As for myself, I started to drink. I neglected the parish, leaving Nathaniel to do my duties. I would remain in my office for days, slumped in front of the fire with a bottle of wine at hand. I no longer took delight in anything, not even reading the bible. I band the choir from singing, cast out the organist, and never allowed insects to burn. I was at a loss end and I knew it.

So one night, I decided to take control. Doing the thing I did best, I went to the altar and asked God for guidance. I cannot recall an answer coming to me and yet the next morning I went in search of the women Valencia, so that I may find my Father’s son. I know not what it was that made me long to see my half brother but something told me it was there I might find my answers.

Travelling by foot for many hours I reached the town of their residency and found their house. Knocking lightly on the door I waited. A woman, younger then my mother answered my call. Her salt and pepper hair had been pulled back into a long plait that lay over her shoulder, her apron was worn but clean, and her blue gown was going thread bare at the elbows. This women was surly a beauty when she was young, and for the briefest moment I saw why my father had loved her.

“My I help you?” She said hoarsely, eyeing my black attire and collar.

I asked her if I was speaking to Miss Valencia.

“O, why yes young man, I am, but my name is not Miss Valencia, it is Mrs Tower, as I have been for many, many years.”

“You are married?” I incurred, lava burning in my gut, fearing the worst of sins.

“Yes.” She said. “But my husband has been dead these last three years.”

She then proceeded to invite me into the parlour for further conversation, where I learned that she had been married since she was nineteen and had bore a son shortly after her marriage.

“Madam, forgive me but I believe you knew my Father, and your son was also his.”

The old wretch looked at her feet, a few tears glistening in her eyes. I could feel her sorrow and self-pity. Her next words she whispered in despair.

“Yes I knew your Father. And my son was not of my husband.”

She told me of their love affair, that they had been childhood friends and wished to marry but their families had kept them apart. Shortly after her marriage she met my father again and their love proved too much. In all this she seemed sincere enough but the lava was boiling as she confessed it all. Blood was pouring into my eyes. I could not suppress my rage much long and knew I would soon have to take my leave, so I asked only one last question.

“Where can I find my brother?”

“He lives at the blacksmith shop for that is his profession. He is there with his wife and children.”

I smiled at the women. Placing my hand on her shoulder I took into my grip her hair, bound in a covenant rope. Placing my other hand on her arm I took hold of her tightly. A serge of fear appeared in those eyes and I savoured her dread.

“May God have mercy of your black soul.” I said.

I one swift movement I rapped her hair about her neck and pulled. As her lifeless body fell to the ground I could not help but laugh. My Fathers mistress had been slain and could now seek her repentance at the gates of Hell.

Leaving the house I made to meet my brother.

It was dusk when the police arrive at my brother’s home. I had been there a few hours, sipping tea with him and his wife. So far I like my brother, who was still ignorant of our connections. He was a lively chap with chestnut hair who delighted in making things. His wife was a well woman, pretty with a nice air to her. And my niece and two nephews, well never have you seen such lively boys, even though they were only three. And my niece was the most beautiful diamond you have ever seen. Such beautiful eyes and fair golden hair, like an angel. I had been sat with the infant when the police followed my sister-in-law into the living room.

“Mr Tower, Reverent.” Said the policeman in charge, addressing my brother and I. “It is my deepest regret to inform you of the passing of the Widow Towers.” 

My brother said nothing, just sat dumbfound staring into space. I on the other hand thought it best to react. Surprising my urge to giggle I asked the officer what had happened.

“It appear to have been murder, but for what course we are baffled.”

“Never mind the reason man!” I yelled handing the baby to her mother; I stood to address the officer further. “What of the culprit?” 

“We have no suspects sir.”

Leaving my face blank I roared with laughter inside. Of course there were no suspect, I thought, God claims lives as he chooses and leaves no trail.

An inquest was to take place and police squads had been despatched to hunt down anyone suspicious. I was asked to stay at the blacksmith’s house, to comfort the souls it held and so to help with the funeral the next day. After the service the blacksmith asked me to join him on a walk around the tombstones.

“My mother was a simple women and I loved her dearly as did my Father. But there is something troubling me.” He told me. “I believe there was always a secret between us, some confession she thought to ill to mention…”

“Let me stop you there my friend.” I said. “ I know of what you speak and so feel it is my duty to tell you the truth as I believe your mother would wish me too. As you may know my own Father passed away only a few short weeks ago and among his possessions was found a journal. It would appear you are not your fathers son but mine.”

What a revolting display followed. My brother cried and shock. He called his wife over and she did the same, glad to have found a relative long lost. I was invite to stay for a longer time and all the rest. And so the days past, and I found myself in my new families company, constantly being praised for my appearance in bad times. The children where bid to call me Uncle and my new sister knew me only as brother. My own mother nearly died of shock as the blacksmith’s family and I arrived at the door. And once again the lava rose, they were all happy about it! They didn’t care about the sins and tinted blood. They were glad to have found each other’s families. They threw parties and sang song, and I hated it.

Nathaniel was surprised at my having told my brother of our blood but congratulated me on over looking my hatred of my Father and finally forgiving him. But I had not, I would never forgive my Father for what he had done, no matter how much I liked my elder brother. In so doing his deeds my Father had cursed my family who would all carry his sin to the grave. And so I had a choice to make.

It was at dinner that I made my decision. Every member of the family was there, except my niece who resided in a cot upstairs. I looked at all their faces. Frowned at their smiles. It had to be done, it must be.

“I would like to read to you all if I may.” I said and with lots of encourage meant from my fellows I fetched my bible. Or so they thought. Upon entering the second floor I raced straight for the nursery. Crashing thought the door I swung my fist at the alarmed nurse, knocking her to the floor. Grabbing the babe in her bundle of blankets I made for the window. Out in the night air I ran, away from the house of sin. The innocence of this angel in my arms had to be protected and so I left my fathers house, my brothers side, and fled.

And so now to Grace, my Angel, I leave this confession, before I enter the gates of St Peter. I am not you Father, Peter Furrow as I have had you believe all these years. I am your uncle,  Adolpus, a wonderer who lost his way.

 

 

Reviews

[Bubo]

All the air in the room seemed to evaporate when I saw he features, and heat washed thought-out, as I read the words:
(heat washed?, not sure about the phrase)

Some thought my new vows was just a way of copping with the grief (were just a way of coping)

morning (mourning)

I band the choir from singing, cast out the organist, and never allowed insects to burn (ban the choir)
Incense?

I one swift movement I rapped her hair about her neck and pulled. (One swift movement and I wrapped her hair around her neck)

It would appear you are not your fathers son but mine." (some confusion over the father and son?)


Its a fab story, full of detail, a great plot and underlying sadness and betrayal, I would go through it and edit it, some parts didn't make alot of sense..........but I think you have a great story here.

[Roger Ferguson II]

this is really good! i love how you tell the story.

[Vlazuvius]

I really like the story you tell, I have only two thoughts-

The first is grammatical. You should make the adjustments that Bubo and others have advised.

Also, I think that this story could stand to be a bit longer. I enjoyed the reveal at the end, but I probably would have enjoyed it even more if I had to wait a bit longer. Your narrator states that stealing the child was what had to be done, but I don't know what part of his twisted logic made him think that. So if you could flesh out the process of his mental degradation, I think it would be all the more gripping.

[Chiquita]

I am impressed again. The story is full and well developed. We all have our dark corners where the light has a hard time to illuminate that which hides there.

This man holds a great deal of anger that turns him into the image of his father. He becomes that which angers him at the hands of his anger. It is a sad tale indeed. I believe I know the tale from having lived it myself. Here history is repeating itself in a cycle of pain.

[DarkAngelWriter]

Oh dear God. This piece was amazing. The exposition grabbed my attention immediately, and the rest was far from a let down! I love this! It's definitely getting rated 100 and going in my favs =D

[Emily B]

Such a strong narrative voice! Great story.

[Rhiannon Dragonraine]

This is gripping I love the tone and the pace of this story once it caught me I couldn't stop reading it was wonderful! Great job though I did notice a few spelling errors they did not detract from the power of the peice and were indeed hardly worth the time to make notes. Bravo on this I am impressed how you can sink so well into the charater of another. Awesome!

[ilmhg]

I had the same problem as the previous reviewer. In several parts, the mispellings and/or misuse of words made it hard to follow. I think a good proof read (not spell-check) would do wonders for this otherwise very interesting, however pretty 'clicheish,' story.

[richard hurndall]

I really enjoyed this story- the detail is magnificent. The narrator has a distinct voice, and a believable character. I liked the bit where you describe his indulgence in performing the ceremonies and sermons, it gives the reader a taster of the characters selfishness, preparing for the shocking second half. Try and get it published.

[Zanna Rose]

Wow. You know it's no wonder that forgiveness is so important! So much hatred leads to sin compounding on itself. This is an excellent interpretation of that and I applaud your artistry! Good Job.

[Lee*]

A very interesting story. It seemss like Adolpus might have a lot of explaing to do to Saint Peter when he gets to those gates!

I liked the way this was written. The first person perspective and the choices he made put me in mind of some of Edgar Allen Poe's writings with characters that seemed to function with their own moral code, one that had gone somewhat askew. Very enjoyable.