Confession.

The work of a priest is never done. Not that I am complaining, I enjoy my work. I step into the central compartment of the confessional and draw the curtain behind me. Sitting in the dark I can not read the scriptures but instead spend my time waiting examining my own guilty conscious and asking for forgiveness for my own many sins preparing myself to hear the confessions of my flock. I don't have to wait long until I hear the shy footsteps of my first confessor approaching quickly down the aisle, the sound echoing around the empty nave as they rush to he sanctuary of the confessional booth. There are always a lot of people ready to confess these days; the world is full of sin, full of lust and debauchery. Lately I have had to increase the length of my confessions again and again to keep up with the demand for my time and forgiveness. Of course I have no idea who is on the other side of the thin wooden panel the cloak of anonymity allowing those that come to me to speak freely. The curtain is drawn aside and an anonymous sinner steps into the booth next to me and sits down with a deep sigh clearly building the confidence to open their soul to judgement. I pull open the small panel between the booths and brace myself slightly to hear what twisted and evil things they have to say: "Speak to me child, there will be no judgement here only forgiveness".