UnSouled (Unwind Dystology 3)

“Well, I’ll accept your confession, but it sounds like you need something more than the sacrament of the confessional.”

“It’s because the memories are from other people.”

“ . . .”

“Did you hear me?”

“So you’ve received bits of the unwound?”

“Yes, but—”

“Son, you can’t be held responsible for the acts of a mind that isn’t yours, any more than you can be responsible for the acts of a grafted hand.”

“I have a couple of those, too.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Camus Comprix. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“ . . .”

“I said my name is—”

“—yes, yes, I heard you, I heard you. I’m just surprised you’re here.”

“Because I’m soulless?”

“Because I very rarely hear confessions from public figures.”

“Is that what I am? A public figure?”

“Why are you here, son?”

“Because I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I might not . . . be . . . .”

“Your presence here proves you exist.”

“But as what? I need you to tell me that I’m not a spoon! That I’m not a teapot!”

“You make no sense. Please, there are people waiting.”

“No! This is important! I need you to tell me . . . . I need to know . . . if I qualify as a human being.”

“You must know that the church has not taken an official position on unwinding.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Yes, yes, I know it’s not. I know. I know.”

“In your opinion as a man of the cloth . . .”

“You ask too much of me. I am here to give absolution, nothing more.”

“But you have an opinion, don’t you?”

“ . . .”

“When you first heard of me?”