The [self] proclaimed pious man (short story)

He came home from church on a Sunday afternoon, he walked into his large house and then into his office. He sat in his comfortable red leather chair, a favorite, cracked with age and use, he began.

“Oh God whom I worship, hear my prayers; you know that I love you and so that is why I give 15% of my income to you on a monthly basis. You know I care for the unsaved and so out of that 15% I give what I have to various missionaries serving you far and abroad. There are times I have not been gracious or loving God, but I know you will make my gay son know that he is living in sin with his boyfriend of 7 years.
As you know God, My daughter doesn’t come around much since her mother and I divorced, but you know that it’s up to her to make the first step back to this place and I know you will guide her accordingly. God you know my wealth has been made off the defenseless; while my company won’t acknowledge that our products are made in third world countries I know they are, and I pray that those who make our clothing find you by way of missionaries.
God be with my family and friends at this time, give them comfortable lives and may they always get that when I say I love them by way of phone call and email, I truly mean it. I might not love my ex-wife as I should, but, God but that’s her fault and help her to realize it, because until she does I won’t ever forgive her for getting a divorce, and for what? She always knew I was a womanizer, so what’s her excuse for not letting it slide?
Hear my prayers oh God, you know I love you and I know you forgive me for what I have done wrong, help those who have wronged me seek your forgiveness as well as mine. Amen.”

He got up, content with his time of prayer. He walked into his bathroom and try as he could, the blood would not come off his hands.


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