First two pages of my story “The Seal of the Confessional.” If there’s one thing I love about writing fiction, it’s taking characters and completely destroying their spirits/putting them under immense pressure. In this, I’m beginning to destroy a Priest. My mind.
Father Daniel Halloran, of the Old Cambridge Baptist Church, could smell something vulgar through the latticed opening of the confessional, much like car exhaust. It was a smell for blackened lungs and while it wasn’t so much a physical smell, it did creep through his nostrils only to caress his brain and every wrinkle on it.