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| - The former tenant of our house, a priest, had died in the back drawing-room. I could tell he was dead, because he smelt even worse than usual. I remember that day well, I was visiting the priest for my weekly confession, during which I would be forced to admit my ‘guilty sins of the flesh’. Last week I told the priest I had once seen a woman hanging out washing, he condemned my ‘vile lust of the eyes’. And said I was a wicked depraved child, who Jesus would watch with extra vigilance. He asked if I’d ever been naked. I told him I had. ‘Nakedness is sin!’ He screamed, ‘I myself have never been naked!’He told me I must say 500 Hail mary’s , 86 our fathers, and pray for the death of 26 protestants. He asked if their was any other, depravity to witch I would confess, he seemed exited at the th
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| abstract
| - The former tenant of our house, a priest, had died in the back drawing-room. I could tell he was dead, because he smelt even worse than usual. I remember that day well, I was visiting the priest for my weekly confession, during which I would be forced to admit my ‘guilty sins of the flesh’. Last week I told the priest I had once seen a woman hanging out washing, he condemned my ‘vile lust of the eyes’. And said I was a wicked depraved child, who Jesus would watch with extra vigilance. He asked if I’d ever been naked. I told him I had. ‘Nakedness is sin!’ He screamed, ‘I myself have never been naked!’He told me I must say 500 Hail mary’s , 86 our fathers, and pray for the death of 26 protestants. He asked if their was any other, depravity to witch I would confess, he seemed exited at the thought of depravity and I could see him drool slightly as he spoke the word. He had that creepy look in his eyes, the look he gave alterboys as he locked the church doors for the start of choir practise. I said I thought church was ‘a bit dull’. He foamed at the mouth, and made the sign of the cross. He called this ‘adultery of the soul,’ and said I would go straight to hell that afternoon, unless I was very very sorry, and gave him five pounds. I gave him the money and he told me I must now say 900 Hail mary’s 11 Jesus wepts and 600 our fathers, and pray to saint Patrick to end my ‘Depraved phallic lust’. He said if it didn’t stop soon I would end up a degenerate pornographer, I would go blind from wanking, regurgitate sand, and choke on my own whisky. He said from now on I should feel nothing but guilt, and the ‘numbness of shame.’ Curiously I had found the door was unlocked. I stepped inside, just to look around, perhaps ‘borrow’ some furniture. While exploring the drawing room I spotted a silver candlestick above the hearth. I thought it very ornamental,and couldn't help wondering how long it would take to melt down the silver;. Passing the candlestick from hand to hand I slid it in my pocket, to protect it from the dust. I did the same with his watch, and his crucifix, and the banknotes under the mattresses. The priest had always said that we couldn't take it with us after we died. Not like he'd need it any more. After all, he tried to hide his Kitten Huffing habit and his porn collection. I found his porn stash in some old boxes marked "hymn texts", and I found used up kittens in boxes marked "tax forms", and I knew the priest didn't believe in paying taxes and hardly ever sang. Naturally I took the opportunity to tidy out the rest of the place, before the police arrived, I didn’t want them to trip over all that clutter. Returning with my wheelbarrow I began clearing the mess. In fact I was so enthusiastic and removed so much ‘clutter’ , I was obliged to sell the majority of his possessions, that very day at the flea market. I reasoned that the priest had no need of them, being decidedly immobile for the foreseeable future, and already rather mouldy. The porn collection alone could yield a fortune to lonely men unable to find a mate, as they usually hung out at the flea market having nothing better to do. Besides I lived next door him so it virtually belonged to me anyway. “Its what he would have wanted.” I told myself as I shoved his body off the chair, and chopped it up for firewood, the chair that is, not the body. I thought he’d be having a bad enough time in hell, without burning on earth as well. I'll leave his torture up to the devil, who just loves priests who lost their way and has a special place set aside for them next to the insurance salesmen, lawyers, and politicians.
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