The recollection of just a few seconds ago stained his shut eyelids and he was just about ready to scream. But as if God was testing him, he couldn’t scream in the small room of white tiles that echo for hours—he can’t. He just can’t.
So cold water will suffice. The water rushes and rushes out into the guilty bowl and his hands cup to accumulate water. Maybe he cupped them in prayer, hoping that his life would be normal after washing away his sins.
Okay, okay, alright, he tells himself and he just can’t shake the feeling that he can’t wash his regret off. No amount of scrubbing or soap or water could save his soul from that horrible, horrible thing he did.
He notices himself move in the mirror, watching the way the water drips off his palms, how the strands of hair that ghost over his forehead tremble, the way he’s just…himself.
And he’s disgusted.
So much so, that he just needs to leave.
He walks out of that cold, soulless building, in the search of light or darkness, somewhere where his mind can lay still, legs carry him quickly past the warm light of the lampposts, the soles of his feet pave the pavement in rapidity, and finally..
Light.
In the middle of nowhere.
His eyes curiously wonder to its source, and it’s as if someone in the clouds held a flashlight onto the Earth, coincidentally illuminating the disoriented man.
And he sinks onto his knees, completely at whoever’s mercy.
“Please, I don’t understand,” he wails.
His ears could swear they heard a response, and he swallows.
“I…can’t say. Please don’t make me admit it.” His eyes avert to his trembling hands, the blood that once adorned them back to haunt him.
They cover his mouth to let him let out a shrilled and muffled scream of desperation, of torment.
And he wallows in rapport, in beg of forgiveness.
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