Please Forget Me - Chapter 223

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

‘Who is this man really?’

According to my recovered memories, I once thought of him as a hypocrite. So is he not still one now?

“Dana.”

When my faith in him wavered, he took my hand and said,

“Let’s pray.”

I almost rejected him, revealing my true feelings. What use is prayer to this hypocrite now?

‘Where is God in this hell?’

One soldier in my memory threw a bottle on the stone floor and shouted this far off, at the priest standing before the cross on the opposite side of the square.

‘Then tell me, what do you do with prayer?’

The priest silenced the soldier at once, then laid his hands on the heads of kneeling soldiers and began to pray.

‘There was a time I resented God too. Even now, I sometimes blame Him. Why does He hate me? Why does He ignore all my wishes? I once asked myself: am I so special that God hates me?’

Unlike other clergy, the priest with our unit was unique, almost unconventional. His charm was such that even the skeptics would listen.

‘The Creator did not make me alone. He made my enemies too. Perhaps even now, my enemies are praying the same wish: to kill me. God must be troubled deciding whose prayers to answer.’

Those bowing their heads, even the soldier who had questioned God’s existence, quietly smiled at this moment.

‘God isn’t a servant who exists only for me. To the Shepherd God, we are all just lambs alike—foolish lambs who cry when released to green pastures but then climb rocky cliffs and fall to their deaths.’

Though the priest’s face was distant, his clear voice echoed all the way to the hospital across the square. Even the wounded stopped groaning to listen, and a hush fell over the hospital front.

Curious where this was leading, I stopped my work and listened, and even now, though I cannot remember the rest, the moment Killian prayed, I was distracted, recalling the priest’s words in my memory.

‘When one sheep leads, the rest follow blindly. If the leader is foolish, the whole flock loses its way. Sometimes, I meet leaders so foolish, they don’t even realize they are lost—and they lead their flock off a cliff.’

I smiled bitterly at the harsh words and looked around cautiously. Though metaphorical, it was a bold criticism of the military command and government right in the middle of the unit. The priest appeared upright, but there was a crookedness to him.

Unlike me, he feared no one’s gaze and spoke with sharp candor.

‘Let us all pray.’

Raising his hands high as if reaching to God,

‘May those leading both us and our enemies open their eyes and guide us on the right path.’

Even the man who claimed there was no God took off his hat and joined his hands. I hesitated to join mine, wondering if hands stained with a patient’s blood were worthy of prayer.

Some say a man is most lovable when his hands are stained with blood, but this blood was the last trace of the patients I failed to save. I felt no pride in my bloodied hands.

‘No one lives their entire life without having others’ blood and tears on their hands.’

I looked down at my hands in a daze, startled as if the priest was speaking directly to me. Though I could not be seen from across the square…