4

This is my fourth confession.

I think I have some sort of psychological issue; I sometimes feel as if someone’s looking at me, staring. I feel this acutely after sex or any sexual activities (especially when I’m subbing)...

But I’ve been feeling it pretty intensely these past few days. I feel like people are watching me in the office, in the subway. It’s bad in the subway, since there’s an entire crowd of people looking in every direction, and you’re never quite able to tell if the person sitting across from you is looking at you, beyond you, or through you. 

This feeling peaked when I was sorting through the mail. I found a plain brown envelope, slightly battered, torn in places, and damp. It had no name on it, no address, no postage. There was a small square of paper inside:

you have been summoned to TRIAL

<o>

Some joker decided to put this in my mail, no doubt. Though, I can’t understand why, it probably wasn’t even left for me. But that stupid little symbol set on edge. The hairs on the back of my neck are prickling even now. I can’t stop looking around, and I’ve even gone over to the front window a few times. I don’t know what I’m supposed to see...

Maybe I’m still shaken up from the dog incident. I should try taking a nap, my boss is not going to be merciful if I come to work tired and listless. Heh, St. Clair says that pity’s not something he’s able to feel.

Call Animal Control

Of course. Of course, it had to decide to stop at my door at one in the morning. 

And of course it had to rip at the wood with those hideous front claws. 

I stumbled to the front door in my underwear, rubbing my eyes and trying to focus...until I heard the growling. That’s about when the fear kicked in, the adrenaline rush following in its footsteps. I crept over to the light switch on the balls of my feet, placing a hand over the panel in the dark. My fingers fumbled around for a few seconds before I finally found the correct plastic nub. I leaned over to look outside the window, trying to get a good look at the dog; I was able to only make out the outline of a shape black as pitch. When I flicked the switch, the lightbulb above my porch sputtered a few times before finally setting on. I...this is going to sound really stupid, but I swear that the damn thing’s eyes were glowing. 

As soon as I turned the light on, the dog turned its’ head. It looked at me. I yanked the blinds down, practically sprinting back to my bedroom. I leaned on the door for a while, trying to breath as quietly as I possibly could. I heard more scratching and shuffling and growling, until finally the thing plodded off. 

Now there are claw marks on my door. The entire porch has this foul, stinging smell about it. And I don’t know how it accomplished this, but the dog also knocked over the mail box, apparently for very un-canine reasons since the mail itself was left unmolested. 

I asked my neighbor if he’d encountered anything similar, showing him the marks on my door. I don’t know what war the man living next to me fought in, but it must’ve been bloody, because he was decidedly unimpressed. He just shrugged, said he hadn’t seen anything.

Now I’ve got to put in more hours at the office to pay for repairs, which means more quality time with my psychotic boss. I’ve got to be careful, he’s been eyeing my laptop. I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if he demanded it sometime soon.

It...it followed me.


It followed me to my work. It was waiting there, right in front of my office building as I was just about to step outside for lunch.

I saw how dirty it was, how greasy and grimy that coat of fur really is. It saw me through the glass. It must have seen me, because it started growling when I took a step forward.

This...this sounds crazy, but the corners of its' mouth were twitching. Like...

Like a smile.


Agh, I'm freaking out over some stupid dog meandering around the city. It's late. I should sleep.

3

My third confession is somewhat prompted; I’m afraid of dogs.

When I was younger, a dog chased me up a tree. That memory really stuck

with me, the smell of the pine, and my sweat, and the stench of wet fur...I’d

wrapped my arms around the trunk, clinging for dear life in the rain. My

brother came and chased the dog away about an hour later.

I get nervous around dogs to this day, even when they’re leashed. I absolutely

loathe having to sit in the same subway car with a dog. I feel like there’s less

room for me to escape.

So, you can imagine that I wasn’t very pleased to notice a black dog roaming

my street a few hours after getting home from work. It’s a beast of a thing too;

ragged black fur, practically a wolf, these starved leering eyes...

Why nobody walking by has already chased it away is anyone’s guess. Maybe

they think that it’s normal for a massive dog to stalk suburbs (spoiler alert; it

isn’t)? Maybe they just don’t want to get involved.

It’s going around the neighborhood sniffing at doors, pawing at them.

Hopefully, it’ll soon realize that nobody’s interested in feeding it and wander

off.

2

This is my second confession (heh, haven’t kept a count since elementary

school).

I kind of hate my boss.

Now, I’m nice to everyone. I give people the benefit of the doubt, and try to

remain civil even if or when they prove to be disingenuous. And I am nice to

my boss when he interacts with me. This ensures that I have no problems with

him. Frankly, I think that it’s the only reason he doesn’t have a fit when I turn

down his crazy requests.

I’ve seen him ask people to work double overtime, unpaid. I’ve seen him ask a

coworker to come in after the office has closed for the weekend. I’ve seen him

try to coerce the custodial staff into cleaning his house for free.

I’ve seen him issue reprimands and warnings when an employee turns him

down with the slightest hint of sarcasm or any tone filled with less than

complete apology.

My coworker and I (let’s call them St. Clair) will swap stories over break about

the crazy shit we’ve seen him do. Today, he almost made a new employee have a

heart attack when he decided that she’d broken office policy by failing to

organize the paperclips on her desk by colour. He actually worked up a sweat;

St. Clair said his brain was about to boil over, since his facial expression hardly

ever varies. It’s almost mask-like.

St. Clair jokes frequently, and a bit too loudly for my taste. Our boss is

constantly on a witch-hunt for anyone who’s speaking ill of him, and I’m afraid

that one day someone’s going to rat St. Clair out...

But I’ll admit, the long subway ride home becomes funnier when I think about

some of her insults.

1

So, uh, this is the first thing I want to “confess”, or talk about, or whatever.

I’ll...I’ll just go right out and say it.

I’m submissive.

Yes, as in sexually. Please don’t laugh, it’s really not funny, I’m so afraid of being

laughed at because of it. I was raised to understand that this sort of thing isn’t

right, that it’s immoral. But I can’t help what I like. And what I like happens to

involve being ordered around in the bedroom and-

Okay, so, I’d feel a lot better if I just laid out exactly what that means to me:

1) I’m not a slave; I wouldn’t want my partner to control every aspect of my

life. I am still independent, and I don’t enjoy being commanded outside of

the bedroom.

2) I enjoy being gagged. I enjoy being hit to a certain extent, but I’m not really

into being beaten to the point of bruising or welts. I don’t get off on just

someone laying into me either, it has to be someone I love, and it has to be

in a sexual context. So, if my partner started punching me for no reason, I’d

be extremely hurt and upset, not aroused.

3) I’m definitely not into being humiliated or insulted. Look, being different

while raised by very strict parents was difficult enough; being bullied didn’t

really help my self-esteem.

That feels...actually kind of better. As mentioned previously, I was raised to

believe that what I like is wrong, so I’ve kept it to myself for about as long as I

can remember. I know I shouldn’t feel so badly about it, but I’m still ashamed

to a certain extent.

Hopefully I’ll get better.

Preface

Everyone has secrets.

Secrets are heavy; they weigh us down every day, getting heavier and heavier

the longer they’re kept bottled up inside.

That’s why most people ease their burden by letting their secrets out. Some

people tell those they trust. Others go to a priest, seeking forgiveness for their

sins. Still more write in a journal, or diary.

I don’t really have anyone I’d readily trust with my secrets. I’m not particularly

comfortable filling my notebook with personal information, and I haven’t felt

particularly religious for quite a long time.

So, I think I’ll unburden myself here. Anonymously, of course; the Internet

isn’t the most private of places, after all. On the off chance that someone

stumbles across my blog, they’ll have no idea who’s actually posting these

“confessions”.

Who am I?

I’m just another Sinner, disclosing all my misdeeds to an audience who’ll never

know who I am.

Until next time.