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May 22, 2005

Michele: The Extent of My Sin

My bare knees dug into the wooden floor.

My own mother’s hands, cold and rough, gripped the back of my neck, pushing me downward so I was crouching instead of kneeling. Her ragged fingernails dug into my skin. “Confess,” she whispered.

“I don’t remember.”

The priest barked at me from behind the screen, “Liar!”

“He knocked me out...”

The screen between us slid open noisily. Father Tim was holding four nails and a hammer.

Mother grabbed a handful of hair and yanked, as if to jar a memory loose.

I was without choice.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned...”

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