Eric Aquino steps out of his car and stares at the towering cathedral before him. This would be it, he thinks, his final, desperate attempt at salvation. He steps slowly towards the church like every step mattered — that if he could not continuously realize the gravity of what he is to do, there would be nothing left for him. He reaches the entrance of the church and walks steadily towards the confessional, caressing each bench as he passes by. He enters the confessional and sits quietly waiting for a priest to enter.
“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been 31 years since my last confession. I have sinned much, I can no longer remember all of them.”
“Why are you here, then? And why wait so long for confession?”
“I have sinned, father, is that not enough? Or do I have to go through thirty years of sins?”
“You have not answered my questions.”
“I deserve to die, I deserve hell — for all I’ve done. I waited because I thought I could cheat my way around salvation. Now I’m at the end of the line and there’s nothing left — only hell. Tell me, father, am I beyond saving?”
“Do you believe that you are beyond saving?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything for sure anymore.”
“You are not beyond saving. The Lord saves even the worst of sinners. But before anything — do you believe truly in the Lord and His Son?”
“I haven’t believed in decades, not truly, I visited when my family told me to. I married in a church because my wife wanted to, but I never believed — even now I am filled with doubt.”
“If you do not believe truly, sincerely, I cannot help you.”
Eric takes a deep breath and wipes off the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. It was worth a try, he thought, now he knew all that was left for him.
“Sorry for wasting your time, father.”
“Won’t you try harder, Eric?”
“How did you know who I am?”
“I saw you walking down the aisle, solemnly, slowly. I now believe that I have seen everything there is to see in this life — I am glad that I was the priest that saw Eric Aquino walk into confession, even if he could not bring himself to finish it.”
“Forgive me, father.”
“I am not the one who forgives.”
He steps out of the confessional and feels the fresh air on his face. He stands for a moment longer and hears from inside: “I was right not to have voted for you, you would have driven this city further to the ground with your greed.” Even priests can’t help but to drive one in, he thinks. He rushes out of the cathedral and into his car.
He drives out of the church and out to nowhere, suddenly conscious of the glove compartment.
Eric Aquino parks near the edge of a cliff which overlooked the mountains. He steps out of his car and breathes the cold, piercing air of the Cordilleras. From there he could see the shore in the distance, glistening in the golden sunset. He takes out a cigarette and lights it, savoring the taste of tobacco and waiting for the nicotine to work its way through his lungs into his blood.
“I’m going to hell, aren’t I?”
There’s no one else here, he thought. Nothing else but him, his cigarette, the piercing wind, and the cars and buses passing behind him, regardless, he was going to scream into the wind and into nothing — he needs the world to hear.
“I’m going to hell and I know it’s what I deserve.”
Around him lies a deafening silence despite the rumbling of cars speeding behind him. It is more than that to him though; it is a deafening silence to him. Indifference from the world he had worked so hard to make better, a silence from those he loved, and a rejection from everything he once held dear. He finishes his cigarette and lights another.
“None of it matters doesn’t it? There is no winning in this life. Do nothing and you lose, try your best and hardest and nothing changes. It’s all just a fucking joke isn’t it? It’s all just a game those fuckers on top play and all we get is shit, nothing but shit. It’s all for nothing, twenty years for nothing.”
He thinks about his wife, how he loved her so much so long ago. How she stayed loyal even after mistress after mistress came pouring into their lives. He thinks about his children, how they revered him once and how they now loathe their last name. It’s all gone, he thinks, it’s all over now — nothing can save him.
His heart pounds as he walks towards his car. He sits on the drivers seat and pulls out a gun from the glove compartment. He removes the safety and points it towards his head. This is his only salvation, he thinks, a death on his own terms — no one to pity him, no one to see him slowly unravel on a hospital bed, just smug remarks about how he deserved it.
He holds the gun, feeling its weight, imagining how the bullet would leave the chamber and enter his brain. He feels his conviction waning. He can’t do it, he can’t do it.
He sets the gun on the passengers seat along with his wallet and everything inside his pockets. He locks the car and throws the keys out into oblivion and starts walking south. Just keep walking, keep on walking — it is his penance, he thinks, his only salvation.
