My knees trembled slightly as I made my way up the thin gravel path, fighting across a bitterly cold cross-wind that was doing it's best to sweep me off my feet. Although it had stopped raining, overgrown bushes and branches from a line of fir trees made certain that any visitor was well and truely rain-lashed by the time they reached the building. Reaching the porch, I paused momentarily under it's dim, 40 watt lightbulb. The dark brown gable did did even less to reflect the light. My stomach and abdomen muscles began to contract sufficiently to cause slight pain. As I surveyed the massive unwelcoming teak doors, now as dark as the night itself through age and neglect, a voice inside kept asking me what possible good would this do? I reached for the heavy brass handles. Again I hesitated then, with supreme effort, I turned the handle - it was open. I had to push hard against the solid doors. Heart thumping faster than that of an austonaut at take-off, I entered the the building.
There he was, a giant of a man at the other end of the hall. My legs, although feeling like rubber, somehow carried me towards him. Fear now took over. I wanted to run, but couldn't. Wiping the beads of sweat from my face with the sleeve of my jackey, I looked up at him. I became aware of his penetrating scowl, which seemed to convey a bitter hatred of me. I took a deep breath.
"Father, forgive me." I croaked, looking into his impatient face. "I've - I've killed somebody!" I wept, cupping my face in my hands. "It was an accident, Father. Honestly, it was an accident. Where the hell do I begin?" I said, but more to myself, in an effort to get my mind into some kink of order. "At the beginning, where else?" I continued, answering my own question. "You see, there's this girl I met at a disco, or rather, there was. I loved her, I really did. You would have approved of her." Again I paused, running my fingers through my hair. It was the first time I'd been there in years. I didn't think much of it, and after half-an-hour was ready to leave. That's when I met Julie. She didn't seem to be enjoying herself much either. She told me she was there with a group of friends - somebody's hen night. As I walked her home that night, I managed to get her to talk about herself. It ws increadible: she could have been me in a female form - same age and social background. Anyway, I started taking her out on a regular basis, and our mutual friendship grew until we realised we wanted more than companionship out of one another. God, would you believe it - both virgins, both in love. That's your bloody fault, Father! Had it not been for you trying to cocoon me into your own moral beliefs, none of this would have happened! It was around this time that I began to have pretty erotic fantacies about Julie. At night, I would just have to close my eyes, and there would be Julie, gliding around me, naked. These...these fantasies - they were so real, I could actually feel the warmth from her breasts as we passionately made love. In the end I could stand it no longer. I phoned Julie and told her about my feelings, half expecting her to slam the phone down on me, but she didn't. She confided that she felt the same. We arranged to meet that Friday, after work.
"We said little over dinner. Somehow there seemed little to say, so we just sat there sipping wine, and smiling when our eyes met. I guess we were both feeling rather aprehensive at what was about to happen next. After dinner, we went round to her place, as her parents were out. Well, the long and the short of it was we started petting, and the petting got more intense. Few words were spoken as we got off the settee, and made our way to her bedroom. Drawing the curtains, she nervously removed her pullover and slacks, revealing herself to me for the first time. Caressing her, I gently unclipped her bra. Her natural shyness made her squeeze her body into mine in an attempt to conceal her pert breasts. My throat felt dry, and I was as nervous as hell. To hide just how nervous I was, I turned the lights out before disrobing. My God, it was terribly. Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. I even managed to get stuck between the top sheet and the blanket. It was nothing like it should have been, and left me feeling a bloody fool. I left soon after - I don't even think I said goodbye. For her, it was even worse - she felt utterly degraded, and it put a deep psychological scar on her.
"I was determined to do better next time - love can move mountains:that sort of thing. We arranged to meet again two weeks later. This time things would be different, I told myself. In the two weeks before I saw her again, I done the most degrading thing in the world, according to you, anyway. I'd bought the services of a prostitute to show me what to do properly - that's right Father, a cheap bloody whore! Again, we sat in the restaurant saying little. We went round to her place again, only this time, she changed her mind at the last moment. We had one hell of a row. I tore her dress. She started screaming and clawing at my face. She accused me of being an animal. She was rousing the whole neighbourhood. In an effort to shut her up, I momentarily lost it, and her her in the mouth. She retaliated by aiming a kick at me straight between the legs, but now she was brandishing a pair of scissors. God knows how it happened, but somehow in the ensuing fight they became embedded deep into her chest. She just went limp on me. I screamed her name over and over again in an attempt to get a response from her, but she just lay there. Those eyes, just staring there."
I looked up at those hate-filled eyes, that bitter mouth, that contemptuous sneer. Completely and utterly ruthless, while at the same time purporting to be God-fearing. God-fearing? He was God! "Total and absolute power in this world is essential." That's what he always said.
"Forgive? Forgive?" I screamed in his face. "You don't know what the word means! You never forgave me for failing to get into university. You kept telling me how I'd never have the brains to run Foodrite International, or anything else for that matter. Well, Father, I@m glad I had nothing to do with you or your filthy Capitalist cronies. I can't WAIT to read tomorrows headlines, knowing what it's going to go to your presicious share holders. I'll see you in Hell."
It was all too much. A regimental sword hung hung on the wall. I grabbed it and lashed out at at him - that sneer, those eyes - everything about him I hated. Yes, whoever painted Father certainly brought out the true character in him. Dead and buried for four years, his ghost may live on, but at least that portrait was gone forever. I raised a glass of vintage port and smiled.
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