Member-only story
Confession of a Sin Eater
My journey to find something to believe in a faithless world.
I died. They took all the blood out of my body and I died.
Modern surgery is a miracle. They put you to sleep and then you wake up. Your conscious mind is in oblivion. Your body is not. Your body experiences every cut. Surgery is a crude violation.
I had open heart surgery. They cracked my bones and opened my body and drained away my blood. My body experienced all this, my mind didn’t.
My mind experienced something else. Something deeper. A call from the soul. A perfect, resonant chord.
When I was a kid, I saved Jesus. That was the first story I wrote. Age 8. It involved a fire in a church and me risking my life to save the Blessed Sacrament. Catholic Hero Boy.
I complicated my sense of religion. Besides saving Jesus, Catholicism was an opportunity. On my way to confession, I stole a candy bar and then confessed the sin. Have your sin and eat it too. But something took hold of me — a spirit, a connection.
I believed. I felt the beating heart of Jesus. I heard the whispers of angels. There was one in particular. His name was Michael. He came with me everywhere, a dedicated guide. He was loving, but firm. A bit of a pain.
