Priest had a name once, but he had long forsaken it. He had forsaken many other items of his person. The first and foremost is the incident in which he gained his fame in this small town, however in order for it to make a cent of sense a tad of storytelling is needed.

After an apparent psychosis brought upon by an existential crisis (theorised to have been brought about by lysergic acid diethylamide or an incident with a tram), Priest punched out every mirror he came across. A young, well-built boy, his blows easily demolished most mirrors in a few hits. The cuts sustained he refused to have bandaged, letting the pink flesh glisten in the sun. He even himself admitted that this behaviour was antisocial and he didn’t really understand the purpose of it- however like a modern day Socrates his philosophy took precedence over societal expectations. His early beliefs were never documented fully though he was once quoted that;

“Nothing means anything, least of all me.”

His rampage on his reflection continued for 3 weeks until serious action was taken. No mirror, nor window, ner even the smooth surface of the ocean in the wee hours of the morning (he threw bricks to disturb the water until eventually the wind picked up by the afternoon). His family, being devout Catholics, turned to God for a solution. You may already be theorising his complete rejection of Christianity however there is no ironic motive behind Priests name. He took ahold of faith like he had of philosophy: with utter fervour.
His family welcomed him home with a huge dinner. They prepared prawns for Priest as per his preference. When they brought out a silver dish he said a grace of which the words are dead and buried as with all those who sat at that table.
Myth has spread that he talked mostly of sin and of its relationship to man. The grace was so touching that his father immediately began to write a donation cheque to the priest who had fixed his deadbeat son. The son also agreed and summarised that he also intended to become a priest himself.

With great cheer the food was served. The great shinning dome was lifted to reveal the roasted prawns. A salty aroma filled the room. Priest looked deep into pile crustaceans, and then looking past the prawns into his own eyes reflected in the silver platter. After that supper rumours spread that Priest’s eyes had changed colour that night, I would put that fact down to exaggeration.

However it is no exaggeration that something changed behind the man’s eyes, his soul underwent some sort of transformation. I mean he must have to explain what he did immediately after seeing his own reflection.

As if falling back into old habits Priest grabbed mirror-like plate and smashed his own face into it, shattering it upon the dinner table. Astonished- his father grabbed his son trying to prevent him from further harming himself. The prawn grease and blood pouring from the son’s face acted as a lubricant and as a mode of escape for Priest. Slipping and sliding from the dining room he sprinted out of the house. They found him 3 blocks away covered in blood.

Using a shard of a mirror he had castrated his own balls.

It was a small town and some how those sick voyeurs the press were called to the scene where Priest released a ‘public statement’:

“Mankind is full of sin, mirrors and testicles are equally condemnable as they multiple the amount of men and sin on the face of Earth. I won’t be apart of this sickness.”

Needless to say his family ostracised him and he was left home(&ball)less.
Priest travelled the country hiking from church to church with only the Bible to keep him company.
No decent brotherhood would accept him or his wild ideas. He eventually concluded they were heretics and returned to his home town.

There he became known as he is remember; as ‘Priest’. Every Sunday he gave a street sermon.
The dirty trodden roads became the house of God, the park bench was his pew, and the gutter his podium.


My mother and father met him at least once, but he had passed on long before I was born. His memory still lives on in the old stories of children bringing him mirrors to break for entertainment. But these are almost contrasted by the strange and challenging tales of his rescue of a young girl from a would be child murderer. After which he told the young girl,

“I would also kill you and the sin within you- had God not forbidden it.”
Of the more common stories I have collected many reminisced of the firm hugs he gave to strangers in the street which lingered a little too long as if he was tempted to squeeze the life out of his sheep.

It appears that Priest suffered a lot from the an exaggeration of same pain that all Christians are supposed to feel. A hatred for their flawed self and their evils but also being forbidden from killing oneself and killing other sinful men.

If Jesus was a more human God, than Priest was a more human version of Jesus. In constant suffering from exposure to the bitter cold and cutting wind he died slowly. The towns people walked past him quickly avoiding his stare, which he was happy of, his end was coming and the years long dream of matyrship would become reality. Priest’s own crucifixion had taken years of suffering in the cold.

With his passing women and men took to the streets crying and sharing there stories of the man they had all been touched by (at least physically if not spiritually).

I question how loved a man can be who died slowly in a gutter behind a night club. Especially by a town who had just the previous night– before sleeping sleeping snugly in there warm beds– had knelt down and began praying for God to show them how to be more like Jesus.


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