The Thief - Part 3

Something I read...

 Thinking about what happened made me laugh as I walked home. It had been just under a year since the last time I was caught, and instead of spending a few months all-expenses  paid in one of Her Majesty’s lovely prisons, all I had to do was an evening down at the church.
Nine o’clock rolled around, and I found myself sitting in the small confession booth. It took priesty-boy forever to begin. Well, for 10 minutes, at least, I could feel his gaze through the crosshatched partition in the booth.  I’ll be honest, it was a little unnerving.
Eventually, he spoke.
“You may begin when you are ready, my son.”
At that moment in time, for some reason, the shop owner’s words came to my mind and I decided to have some fun.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been 18 years since my last confession.”
At the 20-minute mark, I could tell old priesty-boy was getting more and more inpatient for me to finish confessing, in vivid detail, every time I had stolen.
I ended at the 80-minute mark, feeling quite content at being able to gloat – sorry – “confess” about all my sins to someone who was duty-bound to sit and listen.
“Is that all, my son?” he spat out in a far less content voice.
“Yes, Father, it is,” I replied in a chirpy, smug voice. “Now, how many prayers is all that gonna set me back?”  I asked.
And, well, mate, that’s when it all went a bit mental.