The Confessional Booth

Father Bradley sat alone in the booth. He had not intended to stay this late, but he could not yet bring himself to leave. He breathed out, slow and steady. Then, almost without thinking, he reached for the sliding panel and pulled it open.

Darkness. The other side of the confessional was empty.

He hesitated, staring at the vacant space. The kneeler on the other side was untouched, the candlelight barely grazing the edge of shadows.

And yet—

He felt something there.

Before he could stop himself, he spoke.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

His voice did not sound like his own.

He sat perfectly still. The weight of his own words lingered, waiting for something—an answer, a response.

There was none.

And yet he continued.

“It has been… too long since my last confession.”

A pause. A breath.

“I have killed a man.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. He didn’t know where they had come from, only that they were true.

“I killed him with my silence.”

A creak of old wood. The shadows beyond the screen seemed deeper now, stretching towards him. He could not look away.

“I killed him by pretending not to see.”

The candlelight flickered. The words did not stop—they pulled themselves from his throat like thread unraveling.

“I let him drown beneath my sins because it was easier than saving him. Because if I had reached for him, I might have been dragged under too.”

His breath came too quick now. A tightness curled in his ribs, a pressure in his chest.

“I killed him,” he whispered.

The hush of the confessional swallowed his words. There was nothing but the echo of his own breath, the weight of his life pressing back against him.

Silence.