Campbell

Guilt Talking

How do I make you feel inside?
Can you feel the overwhelming sensation of self hatred and repulsion?
I would imagine that much.
You are guaranteed to experience this kind of unimaginable sensation when you betray someone,
especially when it involves someone you love.
I am a powerful thing.
I ruin and destroy lives.
The only possible way to rid yourself of me, is to seek
forgiveness.

 

I can assure you, this is not a simple task.
It is something you have to earn.
Just like I am, however I think I am much easier to obtain.
Forgiveness requires a journey, a realisation of personality and wrong behaviour.
Perhaps, even a complete change of heart may be necessary?
Unless, of course, you want to hold onto me forever?
That’s what some people do and it consumes their soul slowly over time, killing them inside.
It is not something I want to have to do, but these individuals, they bring it upon themselves.
I mentioned your betrayal before.
Are you going to fight for your forgiveness?
Maybe you feel you don’t deserve it, but don’t you think everyone deserves a second chance?
More people have experiences with me and suffer with me than you think.
 
You are not alone,
trust me on that.
 …
Have you ever seen a man, having to face the family of the man he has murdered?
That is true guilt, perhaps, some would say, even irreversible.
I may even follow him to his grave.
Do you want that for yourself?
Take a shot at forgiveness
you never know
it might be worth it.

V. Campbell

I drew inspiration from the betrayal of Robert when he marries Nurse Atkinson in Alice Munro’s “Friend of my Youth” and also from Hogg’s ‘The Cameronian Preacher’s Tale’ where guilt follows the characters to their graves. I wrote this piece from the perspective of personified guilt, this allowed the reader to see guilt, betrayal and forgiveness from a unique perspective.


 

Delivered

A pinch of salt,
A peck of regret.
Cold brass placed in cold hands.
Cold from the waves of the sea
And for what?
Money.
People so needlessly cruel.
For crumpled green sheets of paper,
So worthless while life is priceless.
Slaves collected.
Never again to see happiness
Dragged across stormy seas
Stench of death,
Strong enough to make a man’s eyes water.
Not from sympathy, however.
But from self-pity.
More death,
Less money.
Slaves delivered.
Guilt passed on to the Americas
But it still clings.

V. Campbell
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