I can't remember when my last confession was. But to be honest, as a non-catholic, I don't think I've ever had a confession. But here is my confession. Imagine it being whispered under my breath in a dimly lit confessional cell. The priest is holding his head in one hand, tired from the day. My knee trembles, I've never done this before. I don't know what to do. He coughs, a polite cough meant to get my attention. A cough laced with enough sarcasm so as to say, "Get on with it!" So thankfully, every movie I've ever seen kicks in. "Father, forgive me. For I have sinned."
He tells me to continue.
"Father...Father, I have no heart."
And I have confessed. I have told the world, or at least one priest, my secret. I am a tin man, an empty shell devoid of a heart. I have no heartstrings to tug, no soul to wrench, no muscular organ to pump blood through my body.
"Child, everyone has a heart."
Everyone, except me.
The tears I cry?
Fake. I've installed pipettes in my eyes.
The sobs?
A recording from the voice box in my throat.
My voice too comes from that mechanical wonder.
And in my head is a computer. Inside my skull sits the gutted core of and old IBM laptop.
For I have no heart.
Really, I don't.
The Father has given me some prayers.
But they will do nothing for my mechanical parts.
For I have no heart.
Not Sincerely, Not Lovingly, In Fact, Devoid Of All And Any Emotion,
Daisuke
P.S. Since I have no heart, I can't even tell if I'm being serious. But I don't care either. Because I have no heart.
