drdeweyf:
The sheer intensity of the guilt permeated his very being, an aura he could never fully escape nor did he make attempts to do so any longer. It felt deserved, to harbor it like a cursed object, shouldering it’s weight for however long his own personal eternity would last. Even the act of stepping into the booth had pressed him down further, shrinking the little confidence he possessed until it flickered into nothing. Though it lacked the quality to beat, his heart still ached within the confines of his ribcage, sick with the reality of what he had become, everything he had done. Ultimately, it felt as though a confession would be futile. As Silas began quoting a scripture, Dewey turned his focus to the words. Peace. An intangible concept for decades, eluding him at every turn. Even now he still shifted uncomfortably, tremors grasping fast at his hands, agonizingly fidgeting despite his attempts to stop. How sins so large and innumerable could begin to be pardoned was beyond his comprehension. Not without an equal penance. His mouth dropped open to steal a gulp of air as Silas continued, teeth clenched through an exhale. It all felt so hopeless, despite how reassuring the words were meant to come across. If God truly saw his soul, or whatever was left of one, then what? Did it matter? Dewey wasn’t sure where his expectations lied in the moment, but with Silas’ next words, they were all but turned on their head. He blinked, slowly shifting to peer into the veil separating them with a clenched jaw. “I didn’t come to be patronized, pastor,” Voice tight, not harsh but simply cold, devoid of emotion. This had to be a jest. Cruel, and yet…was there a possibility? “We both know I’m well beyond saving,”
Silas wanted to tear down the veil between them, the dark barrier that kept him from grabbing the man by the wrists and making him see the God in Silas’ eyes. Dewey was his golden goose: a supernatural with a sense of remorse, with an awareness of the human soul, seeking the light of God. Never before in all his years had Silas experienced that, nor had he ever heard of it from his family’s generations of members of the Shepherds of Glory. Dewey was an anomaly, but what if he didn’t have to be? What if other supernaturals could cast aside their sins, exorcise the demon inside of them, and reclaim power over their vessels once more?
“The demon in you is, yes,” Silas insisted. His intention was to save, not to patronize. How could he convey that to the man a few inches from him? “But you, Dewey, were simply a vessel for the demon to control. But I believe you show great promise,” he explained, leaned closer to the veil, his wild eyes searching for the details on the man’s face. What was his expression? Were Silas’ words reaching him at all? “God forgives all of his children. You coming here today, confessing, and your candor about your sins...It shows that your humanity is not lost,” Silas explained. He took a breath, wracking his mind for answers, trying to anticipate Dewey’s questions or next response. His voice softened.
“Don’t you think it’s worth it? To try and save yourself?” He asked, lowering his voice. “Maybe you wouldn’t have to live much longer with the guilt. There can be a holy way to end this nightmare for you. To live out the rest of your days and die the way God intended you to.”
