“I’m not supposed to talk with you.”
“Well that’s rude,” the Devil said, picking dirt off their
immaculate white shoes. “It’s Saturday afternoon, we’re in a church, and I want
to partake of the sacrament.”
“But you don’t ever confess. Why are you here?”
“It can work in reverse, father. Most come here, seeking to
unburden their souls, to make them light enough to float to heaven. There is
freedom, though, in knowing you’re damned, and treasuring the weight that
brings you to perdition.”
The priest shook feebly. “I have sinned.”
“And I,” said the devil, “am here to listen.”
