some really serious dudes at the very top of human philosophical inquiry genuinely believe that if you have a problem, you:
dig a hole
put it in there
LINK: the story behind this story.⚡
“Darkest Period Of My Life: Gay Conversion Therapy In Italy” - Davide Ghiglione, BBC News.
(02.06.2024)
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The gravestone was shaped something like a bottle of Ketchup.
So… this was where it was going to happen. After all that.
He held the wad of papers in his crumpled hand. He was still very young - and sometimes, he felt it. His youth.
Gnawing at him like a dog.
No matter. Surely - after this - it would not come back. The pastor was standing lazily over the hole, dug neatly and squarely into the Earth, as if in contemplation of the young man’s speech.
Father, forgive me, for I am now false…
Father, protect me, for I am insincere…
Father, be rid of me! I am an abomination.
All written in the slanted ink he had learned from another man’s hand, and in words he had copied from another.
The pastor still appeared to be in contemplation.
“Now,” he said, and the young man let the papers drop into the soil. They fell like wet napkins that had just been used to clean up something inconvenient. The pastor leaned wearily for his shovel. “Kneel.”
The young man knelt; the old man sighed.
“A joyous moment,” he said at last, although he spoke it softly, as if still within the cloister walls, as if someone might hear. It was four o’clock on a Friday, and the round temptations of life were beginning to echo from the town square.
Still with his hands in prayer, the boy’s finger quivered momentarily; panicked and wise, like the fly that will not fall for the trap.
But no - it was buried now. Under the soil, and under the weight of another man’s spirit.
He took another look at the gravestone. The music came softly from the square.
Surely not.
Surely, after this, it would not come back.
disclaimer:
This is fiction. The views expressed in this publication do not reflect the views of the author. The stories themselves are based on imagined events. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is fictitious and should not be taken as representative.
Read the full disclaimer.
3. Deny ever digging the hole.
I do not worry where Wullie slings his 'willy' or where Betty swings her 'boobs'. Let them get on with it but if they shove it in my face they get told to fcuk off. Last summer I was in a club in Edinburgh and was in toilet and about 6 other men there when this smartly dressed woman walked in and said 'I IDENTIFY AS A MAN'. All the men looked at one another but did nowt, I stepped forward and shouted GET OUT OF HERE YOU STUPID CNUT! Two of the younger men stepped forward and shoved her out the door! Never saw her again. I would not walk into a ladies toilet!