Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Shorn ❯ 02 ( Chapter 6 )

02

 

Sunlight fades to twilight, and the dance of color from the stained glass windows fades to blue. Tiny red glass votives hold out against the coming night.

 

Electric lights slowly brighten, hidden in the alcoves like the breath of God.

 

I've been here all day.

 

Half of those votives are mine, in memory of those who were lost. The wars have different names, but to me it's all one big screwup. Humanity attacked itself like an animal in a trap, not caring that it was gnawing away its own life. Or maybe it did care, maybe that was the only way out of a bigger trap.

 

I don't know.

 

Turning toward the image of Mother Mary, I ask her to bless the scissors that they might cut away my doubts. My doubts, not my sins. I don't dare ask her to take away my sins so easily.

 

I wrap the long braid around my fist and pull it down in front of my eyes. It tugs at the back, but that doesn't matter. It has grown unchecked since I was a kid, a scrawny, unwanted, unremembered kid on an unwanted and unremembered colony. We were useful. Not wanted.

 

None of us were.

 

I raise the scissors and begin to cut. Now I'm the one gnawing away at myself, sawing at the thick braid with cheap scissors. I grit my teeth against the pulling; the hand wrapped in hair is going numb.

 

And then, it's done. I look at the long braid in my hand. My hair, uncut since childhood, has been my witness for every moment of my life. More tangible than God, it has been with me through dark times and good.

 

I lay the braid at Mary's feet. It's the only thing I have to offer.

 

Moving slowly, reverently, I make my way to the basin of holy water. I cross myself, as I was taught to do so long ago, and take the razor out of my pocket. Dipping the blade into the basin, I lower my head and begin to shave the uneven remnants of hair from my scalp.

 

I didn't expect to be this calm.

 

In minutes I am done, the basin fouled with my most recent sins.

 

There is only one last thing to do now. The gun is heavy in my hand as I take my seat in the confessional.

 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”