So Help Me God

This week’s new flash fiction is Confessional Noir. A Tell-All, with a twist!

So Help Me God

She slipped into the small wooden box and sat down. Invoked the Deity. She was empaneled. Entombed. Trapped. Claustrophobic. What was it about this spot that made you agree to tell the truth? Made you want to? Your darkest secrets. Was it the presence of the Bible nearby? She turned her head and spoke straight ahead. Started spilling her guts.

Couldn’t bear to speak her truth facing the officiant right there alongside her. In his own mahogany capsule. In his black vestments. Just another old white man judging her. The only thing new was this one wore a robe. Bet he had as many sins as she hidden beneath it. Probably more. So she spoke past him not at him. Towards the back of the room. Past the rows and rows of benches.

She contemplated the majestic building in which they sat. Soaring, ornate, concrete. Paid for with the blood and treasure of regular working people. A place dedicated to pursuit of a communal illusion.

She had been hiding the truth. In the interest of self preservation. Understandable. It was hard to consign yourself to hell. But now she told everything. Damn right she killed her husband. You would have too. Why wasn’t anybody keeping track of his trespasses? Certainly, she’d be damned for this. She knew it. She knew she’d broken a rule. One of the biggies. Maybe the biggest. Knew she’d be cast into some unholy pit. At least she’d have plenty of company there. She felt strangely free, unburdened. There is nothing like the truth. It was cleansing. Just like they used to say in Faith Formation class. She felt good and truly reconciled. At peace. Although of course a cynic might say she’d hoped to achieve additional grace by coming clean voluntarily.

When she ended her confession, there was a period of quiet before the old man, her confessor, replied. Before he rendered judgment. Meted out the allotted penance. When a voice was heard, ringing out loud and true, it was someone else’s. A third person.

“No further questions, Your Honor. The prosecution rests.”

She continued to stare straight ahead at the packed courtroom gallery from the witness stand. The crowd gasped, still reeling from her revelations. Same for the jury. The judge beside her smacked his gavel. The D.A.’s grin all but leaked canary feathers. Her own attorney, the public defender, held his head in his hands. Why hadn’t he objected? Well, you get what you pay for, I guess.