Sympathy for the pedophile

I have a demon inside of me. It controls my body beyond my mind's desires. When I see them, their supple young bodies uncorrupted by the cruel, ugly world, the demon is excited. Oooohhh....it's so bad, but I can't help it.

I did it. I cried while I did it. She cried as well. It felt so good, but I hate myself. She ran home and told her mother. The police took me away, it was a quick trial. I plead guilty on all charges. Outiside the courthouse people screamed for my blood. Somebody, her brother I think, actually fired shots at me. I was wheeled away to jail.

I was in prison for a long time. I had to be protected by people who obviously didn't want to protect me. They wanted to throw me to the dogs and shit on my remains, but the law binds them. Still, their protection waned from time to time. I was beaten brutally each time. Nearly killed. Most attacks were toward my privates and my butt, as if they thought they could torture me any more than my own body does. It's almost funny.


I'm released a long time later. I have a probation officer, he's  nice but you can tell he despises me. I attend counseling, behavioral therapy. It helps a little. There's a restraining order between myself and those I might hurt. I'm given pills. They help a little more, but not much. Not enough to satisfy me.


After my release, people harrass me. I don't mind. It is to be expected. They throw bricks through my windows, vandalize my yard. They scream and curse at me as I walk to the store. They beat me up whenever they get the chance, just like in prison. I don't fight back. I'm scared that someday I might wake up to the house burning down and the doors locked. It never comes. The police defend me only because they have to. I understand that I am not loved by anyone. It's fine. I probably don't deserve it anyway, being a monster and all.

One night I start to drink because the stress begins to get to me. I black out. I wake up in a hospital, a doctor informs me that I've cut off my own testicles in a drunken rage and put them in a blender. I sense something like satisfaction in her voice, her nose wrinkles when she talks to me.


I don't miss them. I don't feel the demon as much anymore now that I'm a eunuch. It's a peaceful feeling, but rather sad all the same. I still deal with people harrassing me, making phonecalls to my house and telling me to cut the other thing off. They still beat me every now and then, but it seems to have calmed down a bit.


It's years later, and I'm an old man. People still know what I did. They still hate me, but they don't consider me a threat anymore. While walking to the theatre one day I happened to bump into a woman accidentally, knocking over her purse. I apologize, and quickly kneel down to help her gather her things, when she looks up at me. My heart grows cold. It's her. The one that told her mother on me. My first and my last. She recognizes me as well, and what I am alarmed to see is not hate or fear in her eyes, but a blue sympathy, a kind of pity and understanding towards me. She stands up, thanks me curtly for helping her, and leaves me kneeling on the sidewalk to look after her with dawning expression on my face.


                                     The girl....
                                     The one I did those horrible things to.....
                                     She forgives me.

I wipe a few grateful tears from my eyes and get up, continuing to walk along my way. Whistling joyfully to myself and ignoring the jeers and rocks thrown by self-righteous people too stuck in the past to even care about understanding me. I've been telling myself for years that I didn't mind what they did to or thought of me, when all along it's been hurting me deeply inside, but for the first time since it all happened I truly didn't give a tin shit what they thought.


                                    They didn't know me.

                                    They weren't there.

I had the forgiveness of the person I did the most damage to.


And that was enough for me.