There's a bit of history behind this piece. I first wrote it some time ago for a writing some friends and I were doing. Last night, I decided to ponyize it. Strange how its meaning stays the same, even after getting hooves...
******
"Forgive me father for I have sinned..."
I had always been fascinated with the sacraments of the Celestial Church. I could remember the days when I was young and my mother would grasp me by the hoof and bring me along with her to hear mass at the Temple of the Sun. She would take the sacrament of the Mela and secretly hand me a piece of the flaky thing that melts in the mouth even if I had not yet received my first communion.
"My last confession was eight..."
It was such a big deal to her then, such a big deal that she fussed around like a headless chicken, pattering about in haste as she pulled on her clothes. It was also during preparation that I saw her clad in her in her silk hat and nothing else, parading on the tips of her hooves around the house in search for the perfect clothes to go with her newest kolomboi, or something like that.
Back then she had been the devout member of the religious community, something that only a few managed to scrape up for themselves. I pitied the other mares that were so unlike my mother, because for me, she was the holiest being alive.
I revered her as my secret goddess.
"Please help me find absolution from my sins..."
When I was ten, my mother gave me my first kolomboi, and since it came from her and was a religious relic as well, I was naturally delighted, to the point of ecstasy even. I counted the beads on it every day and would admire how the metal medallion reflected the glints of light in the noonday sun. It was believed that when Celestia's light touched her engraving, she could hear your prayers, even when the goddess was busy up in her palace, for she would always listen. I used it a lot, for my mother often told me it would help save me from the shadows of Nightmare Moon, and frankly, as a child, all I knew of Nightmare Moon was that she gobbled up sinners and bad little ponies alive, so of course I wasn't too thrilled about it. I let myself abstain even at a young age every Spring season. I did not fully understand it yet but I obeyed the lessons my mother taught me.
I was a good colt.
And being a good colt, I always abided by my mother's rules and her lessons.
"No matter what the cost is, father, please hear me..."
During my eighteenth winter, my father fell ill. There was something wrong with his lungs, the doctor said. All ten years filled with excessive alcohol and pipe smoke finally took their toll and rendered him a vegetable. Alcohol poisoning at first, then the doctor detected water in his lungs. For me, that translated as death, and briefly, at times when I was contemplating on my own while watching my father waste his life away , I wondered if he would be anointed... or that he would agree to be the recipient of one.
My father had never been religious. He abhorred going to church and he seemed to be taking extreme measures to ensure he did not step even one centimeter towards it. He felt it was enough to acknowledge Celestia as our Princess. Nothing more was needed. There were questions in my mind then. Like why my father did not like me much since – ever... and why I had blue a blue coat instead of his brown.
"My sins are..."
I wanted to ask him about it, but I learned my lesson from the last time I tried to and since then, I never opened it for discussion. I was eleven that time and just as the final words poured out of my mouth, he stalked away and came back with his horn glowing, levitating a knife, pointing it at me threateningly. I was practically terrified then. It was the first time I had seen eyes dilated, irises contracting until they seemed like points in middle of white film.
What petrified me even more was the fact that I found it exhilarating in a way. Imagery of thousands upon thousands of maddened eyes staring at me... they were strangely inviting. The mixture of shock, anger, lunacy and pain... his eyes, like the ones in my brief fantasy, were eerily beautiful.
I prayed for my father in church half an hour after visiting time was over, and I was in the middle of raising my eyes to the sun when I heard voices. Surprised, I looked around – and I saw nothing. I stood up, and was exiting the front pew when I heard them again, clearer this time. I knew that I should just mind my own business, but the laughter seemed awfully familiar.
It resembled that of my mother. Quietly, I searched for the source and found what I had not been expecting. In the confession booth was my mother.
With her was the head of the church in our area, the one whose coat fascinated me most of all – for it was a beautiful shade of brilliant sapphires.
"I know I did wrong and I am truly sorry for all of them..."
'Finally, we're alone.' he murmured thickly. 'Are you sure your house will be vacated tonight? What about your son?'
'He's sleeping over at a friend's tonight...'
'Good, you still have your good points after all...'
'Of course you ninny! Nopony will ever know.'
'True...'
It was all I needed to hear before I turned tail and ran as quietly as I could.
I was in luck.
They never heard me.
"All except..."
My father's lungs gave way that night. When I learned about it, strangely, I did not cry. My eyes were dry and I even felt invigorated for reasons still unknown.
"I..."
An hour later, I heard ponies screaming. One for mercy and the other for forgiveness. Whatever was that about? I did not pay any heed to it. All I did was walk calmly through the door with the kolomboi jingling in my pocket. With deliberate intent, I took it out and wrenched it apart. Amidst drops of blood from my hooves, the beads clattered to the floor.
"I killed the holy angels..."
There was no point in using it anymore.
"I killed my Goddess. I will continue to kill her. As she can no longer kill me."
He brushed back the moth-eaten curtain of the confession booth, pushing the small glasses up the bridge of his nose. He glanced back for a moment at the priest in the booth. A skeletal head rested against the wall, its ivory surface long picked clean by time and insects. His priest robes were rags by now.
The unicorn breathed in the musty air of the ruined church.
"Thank-you for your time, father..."
