March 25th (Action/Thriller)
He kneeled in front of an altar, his head hung low with the acrid smell of the steeple invading his nostrils. He clasped his hands together, unsure of how to go about the procedure: he had never prayed in his life.
He began: "God. Who resides in the ether. Please give me the strength to persevere. The will to do what is necessary. The heart to be compassionate." He closed his eyes, and relaxed. He could feel his muscles soften, his mind lighten. His breaths became long and exaggerated. He heard a small clatter on his left, but continued:
"I can't ask for forgiveness for the things I've done. I can't pray to you to show me the right path or to help me become a better person. All I can ask of you is to protect the innocent people in my life and the life of others who have nothing to do with what I'm meant to do, and have no affiliation with any person I am supposed to find."
The noises morphed from ambiguous ruffling to definite sounds: footsteps. He kept his eyes closed. "Allow me to steer clear of unnecessary perversions of my soul, and to have some sort of closure on the pain I inflict." He unclasped his hands and put his hands into his pockets. He lowered his head even more. He resumed:
"I hope you can at least answer that. I don't ask for much, and I don't expect anything else but that." The footsteps grew louder and multiplied, he knew he was surrounded. But, did they know he knew? He inhaled deeply, and paused before he exhaled. He opened his eyes whilst still facing the floor and saw faint shadows outlined by the low blazing fires surrounding the halls of the small chapel.
He whispered into the air: "Forgive me, Father. For all the sins I have committed, and all the sins I will commit." In an instant he threw himself over the railing and pulled out his handguns. The figures behind him pulled out their firearms, but it was useless. Upon hitting the ground, the bodies around him followed suit. He stood up and peered at the face of the victims. They cringed as he stared down at them, and flinched as he shot the extra clip into their skulls to ensure death.
He blew the smoke from his guns, and slipped them back into his pockets. He stood in that church, alone and deliberating on his actions. Eventually, he turned to the roof, and said aloud: "Do not think for once I regret what I have done. You placed me on this path for a reason, and if this be your will, I will do it wholeheartedly.
"I just wish for a cure to the night terrors and the angst in my heart when I remember the acts of violence I have committed. Forgive me, but do not redeem me and do not condemn me."
He walked out of the steeple, into the cold brisk night air, with a whistle and a quickened pace.
