AN: I don't know why I wrote this. The fic-line just came to me and wouldn't let me go until I wrote it. It's verystrange in a way. It's from Relena's point of view and she's talking to a priest, but you can only hear her side of the conversation, so it seems like one long monologue. It's quite short though and slightly creepyIt's just strange.

War.

If anyone asks me what I will always remember most about it, I will answer, the smell of sterile hospitals and burnt, twisted flesh. It reeks about me, this stench. It's unforgettable, although technically, very, very technically, one could say that my hands are clean.

Oh yes, that's me, the world's White Dove, incorruptible; a complete Angel, sent by God, if you so believe, to embrace mankind with her pure hands and bring peace to the four corners of space. But that's a lie that people have been telling themselves for nigh on fifteen years now, because they don't want to see the truth: that their savior is nothing but a figurehead, an expression of the hollow promise she made so long ago.

Still they love me.

I laugh sometimes, when I think of how they have put me on a pedestalmy hands are not so clean. What's that? Well, yes, I've never held a gun or any weapon before, barring my attack on Lady Une that one time. No, I was not aiming for her rose; I wanted her dead. You sound surprised dear friend, that I, a pacifist, would attempt murderthere is only one thing I can say: she killed my father.

That is no excuse? Well, perhaps, but stillbut still

Despite your disapproval, what is done is done. This is a confessional and this is my confessionam I Catholic? Yesor no, I don't know. Perhaps once upon a time, when this God you speak of was a more benevolent God, but that is neither here nor there.

My belief, or disbelief for that matter, is not on trial. And that is not my sin. Well, it is the lesser of my sins then.

I have killed, FatherNo! I am no axe murdererperhaps I must explain that statement. Like all diplomats, I seem to possess a characteristic flair for drama and a need to expound, so bear with me.

Fifteen years it has been, since the last war. Fifteen years should be long enough to wash all memory clean, shouldn't it? But it hasn't. Godthe nightmaresevery night, always getting worse, clearer, darker, until I am plagued with living dreams.

It was a hospital visit that began this living Hell. I've been to hospitals before, and this one was no different. White walls, flickering florescent lights, that antiseptic sterility, and the people, the infirmed, the oldthe war veterans.

I am no stranger to pain, as I made my rounds, smiling at the people, touching worshipful hands, touching pained, joyful faces, until I came to one man. His hands were crippled, Father, as if someone had taken hot iron to them, and his face was flecked with burnsthe parts that were not bandaged. But when I knelt to soothe him, perhaps give him hope, he shoved my hands away, spitting on my face.

Do you know what he said? He said, "I will not be touched with the hands of this murderess."

Me. He called me a murderess.

The nurses apologized, tried to get me to leave. Maybe I should have, but I didn't. I wish to God I had, but I am a fool, and fools are always so inclined never to listen to wisdom. I learned that he was a mobile suit pilota Preventer that the ESUN had sent out to spy on an insurgent group. It was supposed to be a regular reconnaissance mission, so someone, someone stupid, sent green soldiers out with their unit. Soldiers that have never been to battle before. With no experience but what they received in a training academymen and women, so, so very young.

The unit was caught; the Preventers all tortured and killed. That man was the sole survivorand do you know who signed the release forms for their mission? An idiot that did not take time to read it, only absently scribed her name on the dotted linesI signed their death warrants. I killed them.

Yesironic, I thinkI worry so much for the peace of the nations that I forget there are those that will suffer from any decision I make. Do you know how many people died for me? Because of me? Faceless soldiersthey sit at my bedside, hover by me as I walk to my next meetingtattered bandages, caked blood on their uniforms

They haunt me.

You say nothing. Am I so fallen from grace that not even you can intercede with God on my behalf? Ohbut if God is so merciful-Yesyes we must be grateful for the things He has given us. But Father, whenifI reach heaven, will I still remember my life on Earth? The people I've wrongwell, yes, it was a war. I did what I believed had to be done.

So I am forgiven? Absolved of all my sins so easily?

So easily. God must be forgiving and merciful indeed if he condones what I have done, what has been done in my name. Your words are comforting, yet they hold an uncertainty in them, Father. As if you are not certain, yourselfas if you do not have a real answer for me. So sadwhen not even a man of God may tell me with absolute confidence that I am saved.

Free will? So there is thatfree willno, do not tell me that! Were not those soldiers ordered to fight? Where was their free will? Were they allowed to protest? What did they fight for? For forsaken causes, for dead ideals. Love, peacehome. You preach these in atop your pulpit, and I behind my podium, but what do I tell those who have died? You die for a good cause? Your death is meaningful?

So many meaningless battles have been fought, so many lives lostall forgotten. All dead. They are restingin a better place nowI hear these words coming from your mouth, Father, yet I question them. Are these men in heaven? What of those who have killed? One of the Ten Commandments, thou shall not kill. Does breaking His word send you to the pit of Hell without chance for redemption? Thou shall not killhow many have broken this commandment?

But is war so differentis your God so fickle that all rules change, are negated, in warblasphemous. Yes, I'm sorry, I seem to have lost my faith in the path from war.

As if-Oh! I'm sorryothers are waiting to speak with you as well. No, no, do not apologize. I can see why you are so rich in saved souls, dear Father. Thank you. Yes, I will remember to seek Him. I will try to regain my faith. Thank you.

There are more people waiting to talk to him. May they find more comfort than I. It's raining againoh no, thank you, Sister. I will not be needing that umbrella. It's only a short walk back to the mansion. No, truly, I will not need ityes, yes, I'm sure. Well, there is a woman there, with a child, do you see? Yes, give it to her. She needs it more than I. Yes, thank you. And God bless you as well, Sister. Good night.

Oh dratit's raining harder nowI should have taken a taxi. The clouds are almost black tonight, as if heaven is expressly denying me the right to see its hallowed gates, much less enter them. The raindrops reflect the reddish brown glow from the streetlightit's slightly frightening. Everything has a crimson hue to it

I notice somethingsomething that stops me in my tracks and I raise my hands and stare at them. I am afraid. I have never been this afraid beforenot even when Heero held his gun to my head. Lightning lances down from the sky and a crack of thunder crashes against my eardrums, but I don't notice the pain in my head.

When the lightning flashes like that, shadows pass over my handsdark, throbbing, slivering over my skin in glowing rivulets.

It rains like blood.