All the Sinners Bleed

by S.A. Cosby

Scott was the type of man who complained about the world being too sensitive these days without ever acknowledging the irony of his own fragility or privilege. Where some saw equality, he saw conspiracies against his manhood, his identity.

So, when you tell me it was God’s plan for them boys and girls to end up under that weeping willow tree, I have to ask myself, which one of us is the bigger fool? You for saying it or me for listening to it?”

“faith broke my fucking heart.”

Yeah, but I don’t love him back. I left that abusive relationship a long time ago, Titus thought.

“Flannery O’Connor said the South is Christ-haunted. It’s haunted, all right. By the hypocrisy of Christianity. All these churches, all these Bibles, but it’s places just like Charon where the poor are ostracized. Where girls are called whores if they report a rape. Where I can’t go to the Watering Hole without wondering if the bartender done spit in my drink. People say this kind of thing doesn’t happen in a place like Charon. Darlene, this kind of thing is what makes places like Charon run. It’s the rock upon which this temple is built,” Titus said. He tossed back the rest of his drink and stomped into the kitchen.

“Beg all you want; you won’t get it. My father and Gene and Mrs. Jojo Ware built that garden from nothing long before you came in here with your five hundred suits. How many families have they kept from starving? How many people have they kept from robbing the 7-Eleven to get enough money to feed their families? And now you want to sell it? I wish Jesus was real so he could chase you down the aisle with a goddamn whip,” Titus said.

It occurred to him no place was more confused by its past or more terrified of the future than the South.