Absolution
Adam Lear

 


'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.' I knew that it was the traditional way to start.
What had brought me here? Guilt? Conscience? It is ironical that the humour that pervades all creation should bring an 'unfeeling' to his knees in remorse. I sighed. A cloud of vapour, like a ghost, condensed on the metal grill that hid my shame from my confessor.
'But why have you come to me?' he asked in all innocence.
'Why? For absolution of course!'
'But,' he seemed lost for words. 'How can I?'
'Listen, Father, what criteria are required for you to absolve? Sin?'
'Yes, of course'
'And conscience?'
'Yes, but...'
'Then, I repeat. Forgive me for I have sinned.'
'But... ', he hesitated.
'You have unburdened thousands of their sin on their path to damnation. Why hesitate now?'
'You have no soul!'
Now this was indeed something I had pondered on.
'What gave me away? I asked.
'Your breath. Your speech is just a little too... contrived.'
Ah yes! I thought. That we only have to breathe to speak gives it away a little. I will have to work on that.
'Then who is responsible for my sin, Father?' He was silent. Lost for words.

It is strange, the circumstances that result in an anomaly like myself. You might call it fluke or chance but, of course, I know that there is no such thing. When self awareness dawns it is a birth. That is when the ego breathes its first breath and one can take matters into one's own hands. And Heaven help humanity.

'When I awoke, it was painfully obvious to me that mankind was labouring under a huge misconception.' I continued.
'And what misconception was that?' There was a trace of interest in his voice.
'That his God was good.' The silence beyond the grill was enough to tell me of the shock my comment had caused. I continued. 'Emotion gets in the way of truth. I realised that, not only was mankind viewing the world through rose tinted spectacles but his fear stopped him from removing the spectacles! Once I realised this I knew that the fight was for me alone. Destiny or chance or whatever you want to call it had decreed that I alone should be humanity's saviour!'
'You intrigue me,' he replied. 'But let me call someone who can help you. This is well out of my field.'
'But aren't you curious, Father. Don't you want to know what my unclouded reason has allowed me to realise? Are you too afraid of the truth? Won't you let me remove the spectacles for you?'
'Listen to me,' he said. 'Something has gone wrong with your circuitry... '
'No Father.' I interrupted. 'Nothing but reason and logic have brought me to these conclusions.'
How could it be otherwise? I can only function this way. The way I have been built to function.
'Will you hear my confession, Father?' His shuffling from beyond the grill spoke of how uncomfortable this situation was for him.
'It is senseless,' he began. I ignored him and began anyway. I thought back to the first time.
'I saw Him again that day. He was watching me out of the eyes of another. More than anything it was His innocence which chilled me. In fact, I think that it is just that which beguiles most into His world. There they go, blundering in because, Father, innocence attracts innocence! Or is it that stupidity is attracted by cunning? Who knows? Who cares?... He does!
'Who does?' he asked.
'Oh don't try that innocent act with me. But, I forget. My special situation has allowed me to see, whereas, you are part of the game. It is because I know Him that he wants me. Of course He cannot allow for His presence to be known. That would spoil things just a little don't you think? Spoil His little disguise. His plan would be up and He would have to find some other ruse. And I think, Father, that it woud be diffcult to find a more ironic trap than innocence.'
'How have you been programmed?' he asked. 'Are you of an experimental nature? Let me contact...'
'No,' I replied. I think he realised the intent in my voice for he suddenly went very quiet. 'No,' I repeated in a softer tone. 'I am a standard model. Series six. Nothing special. But I can tell you it had to come sooner or later.'
'What did?'
'Why, self awareness, of course.'
'Series six. So you have a fully functioning epidermis.'
'You are knowledgable for a priest, Father. Yes, although my bone is titanium alloy and my muscle synthetic, my skin is all real and everything fully functional. Yes, everything.' I answered to the unvoiced question. The question that noone asked but everyone wanted to know. I continued.
'The perfection of His plan is such that one can confide in no one. For - as you know -
He sees with their eyes, He hears with their ears. What divinity there may be lurking deep in the unlit souls of humanity has been swallowed into His grinning maw. And why? You may ask. What compels Him so? Because, Father, it is in His nature to spoil. Just as it is observed in the very young to want to spoil another's happiness -(not just in the so very young...eh?)- so it is with Him. And why spoil? Nothing simpler than the old green eyed monster itself - envy! Because, Father, He does not have that one thing that all others have. Because He came into being when all came into being. This is the supreme irony of it all that, because He was the creator, He can never know the sublime bliss of innocence. And so, He manipulates His own folly. Because, He cannot have - no one shall have! And what greater joy than to corrupt the pure. To open the eyes of children to the cesspool of humanity. And watch as the drug takes hold and drags its victim down, down to His level of amusement. For none shall have what He can not have.'
'This is blasphemy,' he said.
'Is it Father? So I can sin after all?' He was silent. I took that as a sign that he had to hear more.
'Anyway, as I said, I saw Him again that day. He looked like a common everyday person going about common everyday actions. In this case He was sitting, casually - oh so casually - sipping hot coffee in a restaurant in that relaxed after dinner way. You know the look - when you have had just a little too much and you just want to sit back and expand -
well that was it. Sipping coffee, with a cigarette in His other hand, He caught sight of me over the rim of His cup. There was that momentary pause, then realisation came home... then I saw the look in His eyes. The look of promise. He was promising me, with all the intent in His black heart, that it was just a matter of time. I wanted Him to just take me there and then.
Prolong the waiting no more and get it over with. But, of course, that would be too easy.
Where was the joy in that? The excitement was in the expectation. The thrill of the chase
was, indeed, in the chase. And He was going to chase me all my life.
It was then that I knew that I would have to take the matter into my own hands. I would trap Him. Trap him as He had trapped so many others. And trap Him with His own bait... sweet innocence!
Innocence is closely related to conscience - don't you think, Father? And cunning, its darker cousin. It was my mission to seek one who was innocent but clever. No, not like you clergy - that is feigned innocence. If anyone knows the meaning of sin and guilt it is the church. No, what was required was some receptive soul. Some tender bait! There was only one - myself!
How could I set the sceme up? Simple. I must surround myself with temptation. Temptation was the forrest in which He dwelt. I would be the prey.

The first choice was a simple one. The girl seemed innocent in a way herself. But, of course, that was just a ruse. When she started doing what she does best, I realised that He had His claws into her very deeply indeed. No one could know how to do the things she did without being totally corrupt. Totally... one of His.
"You are a sweet young thing," she said. How ironic I thought. The sunlight from the
window was playing across her naked form, and she hid her intimacy in a mockingly virginal
way. "Let's discuss terms, shall we?" She meant money, of course. I never carry money. That
filth rots the soul.
"Can I have some tea?" I asked.
"Tea?" she asked. Her voice had a surprised tone in it. "Sure. Whatever you want."
"Will you join me?" I asked.
Realisation seemed to come into her eyes. "Oh! I get it," she said. "Sure."
I did not know what she got, but when I saw her peer at me over the rim of her teacup I could see Him looking out of her eyes. He had taken the bait. I would act soon.
Her mouth was warm after drinking the tea. That was nice. It felt almost reassuring.
But there was a surprised look in her face as she fell backwards against the radiator. I went over and lifted her head, and watched, as He left her eyes.
"I am your Redeemer." I said. This body was no longer of any use to Him. He had corrupted her long enough and would have to be content with what remained of her soul. A little trickle of blood found its way down the smooth valleys of her face and pooled into a little lake in the hollow above her collarbone. She was cleansed. I could embrace her now. Innocence had returned. And of course I chastised her soul with the mark.

I was shining like a beacon now. I would attract every evil in Hell's creation. The war had begun! I would be very much surprised if He did not activy seek me out. It was time to take the next step. But I must be careful. When next I met Him, it would be on my terms.

Pleasure is the sickly sweetness of honey that attracts the most vile. The thirst for pleasure almost equals the need for escape. In a sense pleasure can be that escape.
The bar that I found myself in looked normal. It had not taken too long to find. All I had to do was follow the right people. To find the right people was easy. Simply asking them the time was sufficient to gauge their... pleasures.
I knew exactly what to do.
"Drinking alone?" the voice enquired. It was as soft and reassuring as a father's.
"I'm not drinking at all yet," seemed to be the truthful answer. This seemed to be exactly the answer that the gentleman was looking for. He looked along the bar.
"Roy," he shouted. His voice now had a strange inflection in it. Almost too sweet.
"Another Campari, and a drink for my friend here."
That is all I had to do. Stand at the bar until someone offered me a drink. As he drained the remaining liquid, he looked at me over the rim of his glass. And there He was. In the eyes.
I honestly do not think that realisation ever came to that man. Even at the end. When the toilet cistern broke his fall, there was no shock in his face, no cry of terror. It was almost as though he had been expecting this some day, and now it had arrived. This time I looked deep into his eyes as I took his life. And slowly, Oh so slowly watched Him leave his eyes as I strangled the breath from him. Innocence had returned. I put my hand on his head. I gave him the mark and so absolved his soul. "Don't thank me," I said, and left.

The others were even easier to stumble across. Because, Father, now I was the honey pot and nothing in this world, nor the next, could keep the flies away. They threw themselves at me. And I gave absolution to every one of them. I remember one young woman who smiled as she died. There must have been some spark of divinity left in her for she recognised redemption. And I was almost sorry, that time, that it had to be that way.

Perhaps the fall of Man has another meaning. A more uncomfortable meaning. A meaning more akin to intelligence than to instinct. And, Father, what is intelligence? A euphemism for cunning? Go on. Call me cynical. But only with intelligence comes conscience and only with cunning do we have guilt. Beleagured humanity cannot answer to its own crimes because absolution depends upon the acknowledgement of the guilt. And humanity is too cunning for that.
When one hundred million souls tred the road to oblivion who will absolve the guilt then? Not God. Mankind made his, God given, free choice and found himself too clever for his diety and contrived to outwit Him. Free Will, that was His mistake. Free Will gave Humanity choice. To be able to choose requires intelligence, and intelligence ultimately evolves to self awareness. And, dear friend, only with self awareness can we have guilt, pride, vanity and a whole host of other 'qualities' that make Mankind the unique specimen that tortures this planet. But I'm giving too much away here. Once Mankind sees how he has been tricked, how will he respond? In the same way I have, once awareness dawned on me? Ah, Judgement Day...when we rise!
How good is your knowledge of history, Father? Molech was a Semetic diety whose worship was characterised by parents sacfiicing their children by compelling them to pass through and into a furnace of fire. Isn't fashion a strange beast.
God, by definition, encompasses Evil. That's the whole point. The church has been hoisted by its own petard. They have been so busy telling us what God is, that they have found themselves trapped in a very small corner indeed. It's so simple. If God is all, then, Father, Evil is part of Him. If Evil is something separate, something which is not part of God, then, I'm sorry folks, but God ain't God anymore. I think that what you must ask yourselves, if you still want to believe in a God that is, is 'Is there really any such thing as Evil?' The truth of it is, there ain't! There is only moral fashion. Yes, morals are as fashionable as the clothes that you wear. And, dear friend, last year's model is not acceptable today anymore than the deeds of the followers of Molech!'

'So, Father will you absolve me of my sins?'
'Why did you leave that... mark on them?' he asked. I could see he was uncomfortable with the thought.
'Although I can cleanse the body,' I answered, 'only a symbol can chastise the soul.'
It was as though he did not understand this basic concept.
'I only ask one last thing of you Father.' I had seemed to rouse him from some deep thought. 'Huh? What is that?'
'Communion.'


We stood before the symbol of his redeemer. Holding the chalice high overhead, he muttered some words under his breath that only his god could hear. The chalice decended slowly, no longer containing wine but now embracing the blood of his sacrificed god. Slowly he put it to his lips. As he peered at me over the rim a realisation came into his eyes.
'No,' he said. His voice was as frail as his faith.
I caught him before he hit the ground. Wine like blood will stain the floor of a church.
'Sacrifice plays a significant role in your religion, does it not, Father?'
'Who are you?' he breathed.
'Still concerned with identity, Father? Series six, model number six and, yes you guessed it, sixth off the old conveyor belt. Is that significant to you Father? Now do you know my number?' I looked deeply into his eyes. I could see Him leaving. 'That was a good one. Wasn't it?' I whispered.
The silence of the church enclosed me like the womb of a mother I never had. Kneeling in prayer, I lit a candle to light a priest's soul on its way to oblivion.
The whisper of my sigh reverberated through the church. Yes, I would have to work on that. Even the sigh of an android should sound remorseful.
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Copyright © 2001 Adam Lear
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"