A Sinking Ship

Confession and Rolling Tears

I woke up from the dream to the sound of someone banging on the metal poles of my cell. I sat straight up, and felt a cool draft touch my sweat covered skin.

"Wake up Princess, Johns ready for you." The cultist said. I sighed as I stood from the cot and walked to the cell door. I felt anxiety prick at me like a snake. Ready to pounce.

"Okay." I said as the cultist handcuffed me and dragged me down the hallway. I wasn't thinking about the hell I was about to meet. The dream I had wasn't really a dream. It was a memory. I wanted to cry hearing Simon's voice once again, played perfectly in my mind like a tape. Every detail was right, down to the position of the phone and the cold floor. The rocking boat. I hoped that I wouldn't have to go through it again. I felt my anger boil up inside as it usually does when I think about it. I should have done more. I should have tried something.

I was ripped away from my self-hatred when the cultist handcuffed me to the chair in the confession room. It was large and was lit dimly with red lights. It was pretty creepy, to be honest. It didn't help my ever growing anxiety when John walked in with a tattoo gun.

"My parents were the first ones to teach me about the 'power of yes'. One night, they took me into the kitchen and they threw me on the ground. And I experienced pain after pain after pain after pain. And when I didn't think I could take anymore, I did. Something broke free inside. I wasn't scared. I was...clear. I looked up at them and started to laugh. All I could say was yes." He mumbled as he prepared the tattoo gun. I looked at him sympathetically, and when he saw me, he seemed confused. No one has probably ever looked at him like that.

"And now I ask you to say yes. To confront your sins. For only then can you atone." I looked at him as he said this. And then I knew. That what was holding me back was the burden I couldn't share. I needed to, or I would collapse under the weight of it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"Yes." He looked utterly shocked that I had said yes. I wasn't one of the ones that wanted to join the project.

"Very well. May I ask why you said 'yes'?" He asked curiously.

"I don't think it has as much do with my 'sins' then my guilt and trauma." I said, looking at him in the eyes. I had just realized he would be the only person in the world to know what happened other than me. I was, of course, the sole survivor.

"Okay...What is your name?"

"Ada. Ada Winters."

"Okay Ada... I-" He looked confused before I cut him off. It was obvious why.

"You don't know my sin, do you?" I asked quietly. He looked at me as if insulted, but nodded.

"I'm not surprised." In that moment, I realized something. That I knew my "sin". I smiled.

"Why is that?" John asked angrily. I tried to put my hands up, forgetting that my hands were handcuffed to the chair.

"It is...what should I call it? An internal conflict." He gave me a quizzical look.

"My sin is wrath. Wrath directed to myself." I muttered, feeling a lone tear fall slide down my cheek.

"Why is your sin Wrath?" He continued. He seemed genuinely interested. I looked at him and began to tell what happened.

"It happened about five years ago. I decided that I needed a break from reality and bought at ticket to a cruise that was supposed to be a week long. A day in and all my problems drifted away. I felt free for one." I looked away from him, feeling my heart pound as I recounted the story. "On the second day I met someone named Simon. It was at a bar and we were both drinking a little too much. We laughed a lot. For the next few days, all we did was talk."