Confession

by, Cassandra

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Confession. They say it's good for the soul. They believe it'll ease the mind, soothe the soul, and mend the heart. But one thing it could never do is erase the memories. That is impossible to do. But many try, and all fail, to destroy the memories of days gone by. Talking helps to an extent, but mostly it just makes it worse. Words have their consequences. Reasons can be explained, hashed and rehashed, but they'll never be understood. Reasons are only understood in the heart.

To some it's an addiction, to other's merely survival. Everyone has a different reason for his or her actions. They ask why... why do it at all? What forced you to this point, this place, where this was the only possible outcome? They ask, expecting an answer, expecting a reasonable explanation for why. But no matter how many times it's asked, the answer remains the same. There is no reasonable explanation, for this isn't the reasonable outcome. But still, it's the one many come to.

Addiction it may be to many. They have no plausible explanation for why it had to be done. They are merely feeding the need, feeding the hole inside them. They seek desperately for a fix, a release from their yearnings. The call is nearly impossible to resist. It's not called an addiction for nothing. They're junkies in their own right. The next fix is the only thing on their minds. The second the high is gone, they remember what they did, what it took to get them to forget in the first place. The only way to forget again is to answer the call.

Survival, one of the more noble reasons, in it's own right. They do it so they can live, but to live means it has to be done. Not just once, but over and over. They can't stop once they start. The cycle will continue to turn, and once again they'll justify the why. The memories will haunt them forever, but they'll push them away, block them out as best they can. They'll say it had to be done; there was no other way. They'll lie to themselves, and to everyone else.

The ones who do it solely for revenge are the one's who suffer the memories the most. They'll have heard the warnings, known them to be true in their minds and hearts, but will not have heeded them. "Revenge is mine," sayth the Lord. But they, in the heat of the moment, are blinded. They'll ignore the warnings, ignore the signs, and let the reasons why fetter, making it seems like the right thing to do. The only thing to do. An eye for an eye, right? But in the end, the memories take their own revenge.

The most dangerous, by far, are the ones who don't have a reason. They do it because they want to, because they can. They take pride in the hunt, joy in the kill. The memories are held fondly, treasured like some priceless jewel. They are bedtime stories at night, and entertainment while awake. They are the hunters, constantly stalking their prey, and loving every moment. They'll take responsibility for their actions, not out of guilt, but out of pride. They live for the joy they find in the kill.

So, well confession may ease the mind, soothe the soul, and mend the heart, few find a reason to confess. Few want to drag up the memories of the why, of the time, of the action. And those who do... well, they already relive the moments over and over again. Confession doesn't do much for them. People rarely change, especially in places like this. Once kind eyes become something else. They turn cold, dark, and almost lifeless. They become the eyes of a murderer. And no amount of confession can change that.