Our Father - Movement 4

And forgive us our trespassers,
as we forgive those who trespass against us:

“C’mon pussy, what are you afraid of?!” he spat.

His red eyes blazing like his red hair. I’m not a pussy…then why cant I do it? Why cant I go into that house?

“All you gotta do is go in there, and take Old Man Furletti’s guitar” he said. “He’s 90, and its midnight; he aint gonna give you any trouble! Just get in there faggot, I wanna play that thing!”

Of course, when he put it like that…

I climbed the fence, past the withered plants and the unkempt grass. Past the ancient garden nomes, past the shrunken and hollow guard dog who was failing at his job, past the old shutters concealing old windows that didn’t want the sun to shine on them (even if there WAS sun…)

The door wasn’t locked, its owner came from a time where you didn’t need to lock doors.

I found the guitar easily; it was the only thing in the dilapidated house of any value. In the middle of the room, like it was a shine to be worshipped. It was as dilapidated as the house; worn away by love (just like everything else).

I grabbed it and turned to go…but there was the Old Man in the doorway. He stood there in a singlet and boxers, a withered being. Totally defenceless, open mouthed at the trespasser in his house. His gaze unnerved me…

CRASH!! ROCK THROUGH THE WINDOW
(glass shatters everywhere [the night is pierced])

The only sounds now are of the faint laughter out on the street and the deafening roar of the Old Man’s gasping and whimpering. He still didn’t move towards me; his face a myriad of misery. His emanciated chest heaves up and down as he sobs inside.

I move toward the new hole in the window, to escape with his guitar…and then I look back.

A single tear drops from the Old Man’s wrinkled eye.

The drop
hits
my soul.

His sorrow is inside me; HE is inside me, my very soul. He grabs at my brain and shouts “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” (the voice sounds like a droplet of water on a dusty floorboard). He shows my brain my actions from another point of view, he changes my view on everything; effects my very personality…he has complete control over me.

I leave…he breaks the guitar two nights later after spilling beer on it, trying to impress some slutty chick.

How can I ever forgive myself?