Don't Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned | Self Para
11:52 PM Midnight grew close. Father Adams was in a near hurry to finalize the remainder of his paperwork just before the new year arrived. With ten minutes on the clock and one page left, he was certain he would finish just in time. Perhaps with even a few seconds to spare. Furiously he wrote, right hand dashing across the piece of paper like a skater on ice. Admittedly his handwriting was slightly sloppy compared to its appearance on normal occasion, but that was the least of his worries.
11:53 PM There was the sudden sound of a crash, followed by what may have been concrete colliding with the marble floor of the church. Father Adams assumed it was one of the busts having fallen over. It would be a logical excuse. But the question he asked himself, what or who could have possibly knocked it over? The wind was nowhere near that strong. Even so, the front doors to the sanctuary were closed and locked. Someone was in the church.
11:54 PM Father Adams rose immediately from his seat, pausing only to hear if there was to be another sound. Meanwhile there were two options he could follow: lock the door of his office and call the police, or find his fleeing bravery and venture into the darkness of the building, searching for the intruder himself. He clearly knew which of the two was the smartest choice. But would he always have to rely on others to care for him, when his own God was responsible for his safety? He grabbed a flashlight and a nine millimeter hand gun kept safely in his locked bottom drawer, remembering to keep it concealed.
11:55 PM As quietly as he could, Father Adams traveled down the corridors of the church, keeping to the wall as best he could. The sound came from the sanctuary, which was where he decided to begin looking. The moment he stepped from the hallway to the wide, open room filled with pews and tables holding amounts of candles, he could see the front door had been forced open. The wind howled courageously outside, but still it was nowhere near strong enough to have knocked over the bust that decorated the sanctuary floor. Almost immediately, the front doors slammed closed, plunging the Father into utter darkness.
11:56 PM He felt the grasp of another take home of him unwillingly, pulling his hands behind his back and tying them together. "Don't move," said a light voice, softly distant just moments before the candles were lit, offering what little light they could, but it was enough. Father Adams looked towards the sound of heels clicking against the floor, watching the young girl with long, white hair as she circled him like a predator, darkened eyes fixed on his, unblinking, filled with hatred. "Happy New Year's, Father." She said, coming to a stop just before him.
11:57 PM Father Adams thought back on the past five minutes. How had things gone so completely wrong in so little time? Where was his God when the entity was needed most? Why didn't he simply call the cops and remain within his office until their arrival? Asking these questions was pointless. So instead he focused on what was happening now. He recognized the girl from service. Her name was Macaria, as he recalled. She withdrew a freshly sharpened barber's knife from the pocket of her leather jacket and approached, making a thin, single line across his neck. The wound was not deep enough to cause him and internal damage, but he surely did feel the sting as the flesh opened itself, the Father releasing a blood curling scream.
11:58 PM "Oh, shut it I didn't cut that deep." Said a clearly irritated Mac as she circled the priest, this time standing behind him. She ran her hands through his hair, leaning in close to whisper, "May your soul and the souls of all those you corrupted with your stupid holy sermons burn in the depths of Hell." Without another second of hesitation, she stabbed the blade into his lower back. Almost immediately Father Adams began to grow numb. He could feel as she brought the blade upwards, nearly carving him in two, but his body was in such shock that he could no longer feel the pain. But he was not near death--not yet.
11:59 PM Mac stepped away for just a moment, quickly grabbing the container of gasoline she had left at the foot of the front door. Upon her return, she noticed the priest was near death, and close to meeting Shacath. So she wasted not a second further. Mac removed the lid and poured the entire container of gasoline over the priest, watching it soak his clothes and hair. After lighting a cigarette with her favorite lighter, a British rebel flag possessing her initials carved into the metal, she threw the small device towards the priest then stepped back, watching as the man caught fire and his howls of pure agony filled the church.
12:00 PM Somehow, Mac had succeeded in dripping small droplets of gasoline on the marble floor of the sanctuary. As she left, it didn't take much longer for the entire building to become ablaze in the fire only Hell itself could have provided. She watched in pure amazement, not a single smile crossing her face. This was anything but a joyous occasion, but rather something she believed simply had to be done. With a farewell kiss blown to the burning church, Mac said one final sentence, "I'll see you next year, Father." Then the young girl turned, and left the night behind her.