Post by Krähe on Dec 26, 2018 21:27:04 GMT -5
The camera clicks on to reveal Zachariah Krähe in a small wood paneled room. An ornate crucifix is carved into the wall just above his head, and softly in the background is what sounds like an organ playing. As unlikely as it was to find this particular gentleman getting comfortable in a confessional booth, that is exactly Krähe is.
The sound of a wooden door opening and clicking closed has Krähe looking up in surprise.
“Father? With all due respect sir I’m not entirely sure this is a conversation that you want to lis-” Krähe is abruptly cut off with a familiar good natured (though admittedly a little over excited) male voice.
“Oh, don't mind me Zachariah! I’m just listening to you work BUT don't you worry!” A throat clears theatrically reigning itself in, and then continuing in a loud whisper. “I will be as quite a mouse.”
It was almost comical to watch as Krähe seemed to be silently counting throughout the interruption.
“Clarence...stop calling me by my full name, and just calm down. This won't be long.”
The sound of a cork popping sounds loud in the confines of the confessional.
Krähe look incredulous at the sound.
“Was that the cork of a wine bottle? Are you drinking again..In the confessional?”
There is a pause before the sound of lips smacking in appreciation and a heartfelt sigh.
“Zachariah, how many times must I tell you that my name is Bob. Bob, my dear boy.”
Krähe's eyes rolled at the clarification.
“What kind of Angel goes by Bob and drinks in the confessional.”
“Oh don't worry Zachariah its sacramental wine...and this is a Catholic church. Priest drink in here all the time it's practically expected.”
Krähe opens his mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closes it again.
“You know what, I am not going to even touch that one. Just be quite so I can do this, and then we can find you some help.”
He paused then as if expecting another interruption, but finding none he focused in one the camera and picked up where he left off.
“Hey Valor pro faithful, I hope this season has been treating you right, and if it hasn't I hope you make it your bitch. I would like to say that I had some words of wisdom for either, but honestly I'm not the type of guy you come to for that. I also wish that I had some moving address for you, but tonight I have words for only one man.”
Leaning back Krähe pulled out a folded up piece of shiny yellow foil from his pocket, and started to unfold it as he spoke.
“You know Zack, when I realized that you'd actually visited me in the hospital I was surprised. Slightly perplexed as well, but over all reminded why I actually paid attention to you before our paths crossed.”
I thought to myself here is a man that truly marches to the beat of his own drum. It left a bit of an impression you could say...but I think I understand now.
The foil unfolds into a decent size circle that Krähe began to smooth out on his leg. He stares down at the results of his miniscule labor intently, before raising those uncharacteristically serious grey eyes back to the camera.
“I almost feel foolish for not having seen it before, but you're good Zack you're very good. You came to me for absolution for your perceived sins, because what you did didn't quite fit the picture you were trying to paint did it.”
The round piece of foil was held up for the camera, revealing a sad face emoji balloon. The very balloon gifted to Krähe not even two weeks ago.
“Were you truly sorry Zack or are you like the good man that cheats on his wife Thursday, drinks on Friday, beats his wife Saturday, is up bright and early to sit in the front pew on Sunday, and for the entire week beats everyone over the head with the righteous piety of his absolution.”
Krähe's head cocks to the side slightly with one eyebrow raised in question, while the balloons face seemed to condemningly into the camera.
“It's ok for you to do whatever you want...sit high on your tower of shit to judge everyone else, because you were sorry? Let me guess, you tell yourself that your actions were born from justified frustration and rage, and that you won't let anyone push you to that state of mind again. It wasn’t your fault, and yet still being the good guy that you are you went out of your way to say sorry.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up in the corner of his mouth creating a secretive smirk. It was the type of smile that someone wore when they got the joke that everyone else in the room missed, but they were content not to share it.
“Well guess what Zack I was never angry at you for what you did. I never expected a sorry, I was fully one hundred percent aware of the consequences of my actions would bring, and I was just as ready to deal with those consequences.”
Lowering the foil he carefully begins to fold the balloon once more, as he continues to speak to the camera. His voice switching measured words delivered in a matter of fact tone.
“Everything I have been accused of is obviously true. It isn't like I tried to hide it. I took money to take you out, and then sold a belt that meant less to me than a hubcap. I'm not sorry about it, and I don't regret it. I would do it again. I also don't care about what you think about me, or what anyone else in the locker room thinks of me. You think I am going to feel ashamed of that? You think I care what any of you say?”
The foil balloon is tucked out of sight once more, as he refocuses on the camera.
“Fuck no. Who are you to me? You don't sign my big paycheck Zack, and even Valor's check doesn't match it.”
He sighs as if suddenly weary of a conversation about something he already expected Zack to understand.
“It's odd you know, this sudden drive to travel this road you are on. You used to march to your own drum, and now you're dancing to their tune and singing their song. When did you start drinking the Kool Aid Zack?”
Words spoken carelessly over the last month roll around in his head. Digging under his skin once more, but not for the reason anyone would think it was if they knew.
Whore.
He didn't find being called a whore insulting, but he found the easy use of the word as an insult disgusting. The very thought of it along with the overall attitude behind it had his grey eyes hardening to flint.
“At the beginning of this week I had nothing outstanding to fight for beyond the pleasure of meeting you in the ring, and putting on a show for my paycheck. I had absolutely nothing to win for, but something changed Zack...Someone needs to win something for those that don't fit into that pretty perfect mold, so I am going to win this belt for them. The misfit toys that you seem to have forgotten.”
With that he reaches out as if to shut off the feed, but seems to think better of it.
“Oh by the way Zack.”
One scarred hand pushes open the confessionals door allowing the soft swelling music of the choir, and glow of the dim church lights and candles to fill the small wooden room. There framed by the doorway was the perfect view of the pulpit and cross.
“The next time you want absolution…go nail yourself to a cross.”
Just as the moment reaches the height of its intensity a short somewhat portly gentleman in his fifties steps out from around the corner. On his face is a wide guileless grin, while in his hand is a bottle of what must be sacramental wine.
“That was absolutely brilliant Zachariah! Uh, the chills and emotion. I was hanging on every word!...Zachariah are you ok boy? You look a bit peckish.”
Krähe had slumped back against the wooden paneling, and was currently rubbing his head with exasperation.
“No I am not hungry Clarince, and no one uses the word peckish anymore.”
“....It's Bob, Zachariah. You are going to start hurting my feelings if you keep getting it wrong.”
Krähe let's out another exasperated sound, before reaching out and cutting the camera feed.
The sound of a wooden door opening and clicking closed has Krähe looking up in surprise.
“Father? With all due respect sir I’m not entirely sure this is a conversation that you want to lis-” Krähe is abruptly cut off with a familiar good natured (though admittedly a little over excited) male voice.
“Oh, don't mind me Zachariah! I’m just listening to you work BUT don't you worry!” A throat clears theatrically reigning itself in, and then continuing in a loud whisper. “I will be as quite a mouse.”
It was almost comical to watch as Krähe seemed to be silently counting throughout the interruption.
“Clarence...stop calling me by my full name, and just calm down. This won't be long.”
The sound of a cork popping sounds loud in the confines of the confessional.
Krähe look incredulous at the sound.
“Was that the cork of a wine bottle? Are you drinking again..In the confessional?”
There is a pause before the sound of lips smacking in appreciation and a heartfelt sigh.
“Zachariah, how many times must I tell you that my name is Bob. Bob, my dear boy.”
Krähe's eyes rolled at the clarification.
“What kind of Angel goes by Bob and drinks in the confessional.”
“Oh don't worry Zachariah its sacramental wine...and this is a Catholic church. Priest drink in here all the time it's practically expected.”
Krähe opens his mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closes it again.
“You know what, I am not going to even touch that one. Just be quite so I can do this, and then we can find you some help.”
He paused then as if expecting another interruption, but finding none he focused in one the camera and picked up where he left off.
“Hey Valor pro faithful, I hope this season has been treating you right, and if it hasn't I hope you make it your bitch. I would like to say that I had some words of wisdom for either, but honestly I'm not the type of guy you come to for that. I also wish that I had some moving address for you, but tonight I have words for only one man.”
Leaning back Krähe pulled out a folded up piece of shiny yellow foil from his pocket, and started to unfold it as he spoke.
“You know Zack, when I realized that you'd actually visited me in the hospital I was surprised. Slightly perplexed as well, but over all reminded why I actually paid attention to you before our paths crossed.”
I thought to myself here is a man that truly marches to the beat of his own drum. It left a bit of an impression you could say...but I think I understand now.
The foil unfolds into a decent size circle that Krähe began to smooth out on his leg. He stares down at the results of his miniscule labor intently, before raising those uncharacteristically serious grey eyes back to the camera.
“I almost feel foolish for not having seen it before, but you're good Zack you're very good. You came to me for absolution for your perceived sins, because what you did didn't quite fit the picture you were trying to paint did it.”
The round piece of foil was held up for the camera, revealing a sad face emoji balloon. The very balloon gifted to Krähe not even two weeks ago.
“Were you truly sorry Zack or are you like the good man that cheats on his wife Thursday, drinks on Friday, beats his wife Saturday, is up bright and early to sit in the front pew on Sunday, and for the entire week beats everyone over the head with the righteous piety of his absolution.”
Krähe's head cocks to the side slightly with one eyebrow raised in question, while the balloons face seemed to condemningly into the camera.
“It's ok for you to do whatever you want...sit high on your tower of shit to judge everyone else, because you were sorry? Let me guess, you tell yourself that your actions were born from justified frustration and rage, and that you won't let anyone push you to that state of mind again. It wasn’t your fault, and yet still being the good guy that you are you went out of your way to say sorry.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up in the corner of his mouth creating a secretive smirk. It was the type of smile that someone wore when they got the joke that everyone else in the room missed, but they were content not to share it.
“Well guess what Zack I was never angry at you for what you did. I never expected a sorry, I was fully one hundred percent aware of the consequences of my actions would bring, and I was just as ready to deal with those consequences.”
Lowering the foil he carefully begins to fold the balloon once more, as he continues to speak to the camera. His voice switching measured words delivered in a matter of fact tone.
“Everything I have been accused of is obviously true. It isn't like I tried to hide it. I took money to take you out, and then sold a belt that meant less to me than a hubcap. I'm not sorry about it, and I don't regret it. I would do it again. I also don't care about what you think about me, or what anyone else in the locker room thinks of me. You think I am going to feel ashamed of that? You think I care what any of you say?”
The foil balloon is tucked out of sight once more, as he refocuses on the camera.
“Fuck no. Who are you to me? You don't sign my big paycheck Zack, and even Valor's check doesn't match it.”
He sighs as if suddenly weary of a conversation about something he already expected Zack to understand.
“It's odd you know, this sudden drive to travel this road you are on. You used to march to your own drum, and now you're dancing to their tune and singing their song. When did you start drinking the Kool Aid Zack?”
Words spoken carelessly over the last month roll around in his head. Digging under his skin once more, but not for the reason anyone would think it was if they knew.
Whore.
He didn't find being called a whore insulting, but he found the easy use of the word as an insult disgusting. The very thought of it along with the overall attitude behind it had his grey eyes hardening to flint.
“At the beginning of this week I had nothing outstanding to fight for beyond the pleasure of meeting you in the ring, and putting on a show for my paycheck. I had absolutely nothing to win for, but something changed Zack...Someone needs to win something for those that don't fit into that pretty perfect mold, so I am going to win this belt for them. The misfit toys that you seem to have forgotten.”
With that he reaches out as if to shut off the feed, but seems to think better of it.
“Oh by the way Zack.”
One scarred hand pushes open the confessionals door allowing the soft swelling music of the choir, and glow of the dim church lights and candles to fill the small wooden room. There framed by the doorway was the perfect view of the pulpit and cross.
“The next time you want absolution…go nail yourself to a cross.”
Just as the moment reaches the height of its intensity a short somewhat portly gentleman in his fifties steps out from around the corner. On his face is a wide guileless grin, while in his hand is a bottle of what must be sacramental wine.
“That was absolutely brilliant Zachariah! Uh, the chills and emotion. I was hanging on every word!...Zachariah are you ok boy? You look a bit peckish.”
Krähe had slumped back against the wooden paneling, and was currently rubbing his head with exasperation.
“No I am not hungry Clarince, and no one uses the word peckish anymore.”
“....It's Bob, Zachariah. You are going to start hurting my feelings if you keep getting it wrong.”
Krähe let's out another exasperated sound, before reaching out and cutting the camera feed.