It’s not the sort of thing you learn from church. There, they try to teach you how to live right, how to do good. Sometimes I wish I’d been more - I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I had been better. My conscience - at night my past lies heavy on my mind. (But not only my past, my present and future - but how can my future haunt me?) And I wish I had chosen differently.

But then I remember him.

I don’t regret it. How could I? I hated him. He embodied evil to me in a way that no perishable being ever should. I hated him. That thought should scare me. Isn’t hate a damnable sin? But I don’t care, I can’t. I’d do it again, in a heartbeat. But I didn’t just do it for me. Because I wasn’t the only victim. (Is there ever only one casualty, only one person made the meal of a monster?) Voiceless, they are. Defenseless. I did it for them. Frightened, helpless. Just like me, just like me. With no one to plead their case, to guard them. Those he hurt (and those he would have hurt). I could save them, protect them. So I did. I do not regret it!

No, it’s not the sort of thing they teach you at church. There, they teach you about God. A loving God, an avenging God. Protector of the innocent, punisher of the wicked. I didn’t believe them. How could a loving God allow such pain, such horror to endure, right in front of his eyes? If he were a protector, why would he not protect me? No one ever protected me. If this God had loved me, he should have never allowed me to be born.

I didn’t believe them in church. I couldn’t. But now? After?

After.

I’d do it again, in a heartbeat. I have no choice. I hated him. But I don’t know - I don’t know. Can anyone know? (Someone has to know.) At church, they said God knew, that he knew everything. They told me to pray. To ask. Maybe, if I had -

I wish I had chosen differently. I haven’t prayed since I was a child. Yet how could I ever pray again, after what I did - (He was guilty, guilty, guilty; drenched in reproach, with no one to condemn him. Yet now I am guilty, because of my choice.) There was no other way, no other choice. I had to protect them, protect them from him. I hated him. But at night, when I think of what I did - (And you ask how my future can haunt me?)  

Not the sort of thing you learn about from church.

I did it. And how can I ever regret it? Even though I wish I had been better, been wiser. If there had been another way, I would choose it in a heartbeat. But no one ever protected me. 

If I ever felt I could pray again, I should pray something like this:

God, forgive me.

I knew exactly what I was doing.