The Church and Its Orbs Fanfiction: The Speech
This is fanfic of The Church and Its Orbs, written from the character Kai's POV. I like how this came out, though, of course, I'm still developing Kai's voice, as this is the first time I ever wrote something for him.
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The Church has got it all wrong if that Yolanda woman is an example of “Purity and Love.” Her lack of love stuns me. I tremble with anger as she continues her speech. I know we have to sit in the auditorium at True Devotion High School and listen during this damnable Purity and Love Festival, but I almost can’t take it. The words blur into one another, and I can’t make out anything Yolanda is saying. It’s probably better that I don’t -- that much hate for her own deceased daughter is mind-boggling.
“Kai, are you okay?” Wren asks. She puts a hand on my shoulder. It calms me, just a little bit.
“Of course not,” I mutter as I grab the armrests on my seat. If I wanted to, I could break them, but I have more control over my powers than that.
A nearby girl raises her finger to her lips and makes a shushing noise. I decide to ignore her, but I can’t ignore Yolanda’s next words. Unfortunately, Wren’s hand has calmed me enough so that I can hear them.
“Some may ask me why I don’t forgive my daughter Trixie for choosing darkness. Forgiveness in the face of such deep sin would be weakness. She had evil in her heart, and she chose to let it win, refusing treatment for her perversion and choosing death instead,” Yolanda says. She leans over the podium, practically spitting each word. Her face is twisted in ugliness.
I take a deep breath. Wren finally removes her hand from my shoulder, and I shake my head and sigh. Forgiveness isn’t weakness -- to love and care for someone despite what they did takes strength, and, besides, Trixie didn’t even do anything wrong. It’s the Church’s teachings on same-sex relationships that are the true wrong.
“I don’t care if I get in trouble,” I say. I stand up -- I just can’t take more of Yolanda’s words.
Wren stands up with me. I look at her. “You don’t have to get in trouble with me,” I say.
She actually rolls her eyes and puts a hand on her hip. “Like I would freaking care about getting in trouble,” she says.
The same girl who shushed us looks at us with wide eyes. “What are you doing?” she breathes.
“We both have a sudden onset of vicious stomach flu -- do you want to risk getting puked on?” Wren mutters. She holds her hands over her stomach, though the effect is somewhat ruined by how she doesn’t sound sick at all.
Without waiting for an answer, we grab our things and walk right past her and out the auditorium. Wren glares at Yolanda, and I just walk on by, wishing I could use my powers to make her shut up. Once we’re outside the auditorium, I crash down onto a bench near the door, dropping my bag to the floor. Wren places her bag next to mine and sits beside me. She rolls her eyes again.
“Well, that lady is full of it,” she mutters.
“Obviously,” I sigh. I place my elbows on my knees and sink my head into my hands. For some reason, I’m exhausted, though Yolanda’s rhetoric isn’t anything I haven’t heard before. The intensity of her hate was especially bad, though. It was like she was an actress in a Church morality play who was trying too hard to display the proper angry emotion, only all that hate was real.
Wren places her hand on my shoulder again. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” she says.
“I’ll be fine -- just give me a moment,” I say. I lift my head and fold my hands into my lap.
“If someone sees us, I can puke on command so people will actually believe the stomach flu excuse,” Wren says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? I...don’t think that will be necessary,” I say.
“Are you sure?” she asks. She lets go of my shoulder and turns around so suddenly I almost get whiplash. “What is she doing outside the auditorium during the speech?”
I look where Wren does and see a tall redheaded girl I vaguely recognize. I think her name’s Gemma, but I’m not entirely sure about that. Whoever she is, she’s in a worse state than either Wren or I. She stands and leans against the wall, and, even from here, I can tell her breathing’s strained. The girl looks too pale, as well. I don’t think she liked the speech any more than we did.
“That’s Gemma. She’s a real Church goody-goody, always answering questions in my English class like it’s the most important thing in the universe,” Wren says. She narrows her eyes at the girl. “Why would she freak out over Yolanda’s speech?”
Now, I’m curious. Why would a “real Church goody-goody” find anything distressing in a standard “Purity and Love” speech?
I must be looking at Gemma too intensely because she notices us and looks at us with wide green eyes. She shakes her head vigorously. “Don’t -- don’t tell anyone you found me out here, please?” she says.
Wren snorts and shakes her own head. “We’re not gonna tell on you. Do I look like a Church snitch to you?” The laughter is evident in her voice.
“Well, no...” Gemma says. She looks unsure, though.
“We really won’t tell,” I say, trying to make myself sound as reassuring as possible. “Why don’t you have a seat with us?”
Next to me, Wren shifts. I can’t tell if she’s curious or if she thinks my invite is a bad idea. I scoot closer to her so that there’s space next to me on the little bench. Gemma takes a seat -- her posture is rather proper, and her hands are folded in her lap a bit like mine are. She leans forward slightly and takes a furtive glance at Wren.
“I -- I...hope you don’t mind if I...” she trails off.
Wren leans forward herself and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t mind if you what?” she says.
“If I -- if I...say I hated that Yolanda’s speech,” she says. Her voice shakes, and it’s barely above a whisper, but there’s a surprising amount of venom in it.
“Mind? Ha, if we were the type to mind, we wouldn’t even be out here,” Wren mutters, leaning back against the wall.
“I suppose not,” Gemma murmurs. She avoids both our eyes, instead staring at the ceiling.
“But I do have a question -- why would you hate the speech? Aren’t you all into the Church?” Wren asks. The curiosity in her voice is obvious.
“I...am, but...Trixie was her own daughter, and she can’t even show the least bit of sadness or -- some compassion? Even if she sinned?” she says. She stares at the floor now. The girl looks...lost. I imagine she’s never said these things aloud to anyone before. I remain silent, wondering where this conversation will go.
“Well, you know the Church doesn’t exactly teach people to be compassionate towards those who are ‘deviant,’” Wren says. She briefly glances at me, and the knowing is clear in her eyes.
“I -- I know that. I know it isn’t very Churchly of me to think so, but...Yolanda is -- is wrong to hate her daughter like that. Trixie might have...chosen a destructive path, but...all that hate? During a festival that’s supposed to be about love? It -- it doesn’t seem like what the gods wanted for this time,” she says, keeping her eyes on the floor.
“It’s not,” I say. There’s such sadness and fear in this girl’s bearing that my heart hurts for her. I can’t tell exactly why she’s so distressed, and I shouldn’t assume anything, but I know what attitudes like Yolanda’s have done to many, many people who deserved love rather than the hate they got.
“I should probably go back and get my bag, but I -- don’t think I can handle it if that woman is still speaking,” Gemma says. She moves like she’s about to get up, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her. Gemma’s eyes widen, and she flinches, but she does sit back down.
“Don’t go back yet -- I think she’s probably still speaking,” I say.
“Just tell anybody who asks that you got a bad case of sudden-onset stomach flu from us,” Wren says. She’s smiling slightly.
Gemma raises an eyebrow. “Will anybody actually believe that?” she says.
“I can make them believe it,” Wren says. Her eyes sparkle, and she seems a little too eager to try throwing up on command.
I sigh. Tevaren’s society has gone so far off course that it seems amazing it even still functions. Of course, dysfunctional societies can certainly thrive, but I don’t have to like it. There’s not much I can do, though.
That doesn’t stop me from wishing I could fix things.
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The Church has got it all wrong if that Yolanda woman is an example of “Purity and Love.” Her lack of love stuns me. I tremble with anger as she continues her speech. I know we have to sit in the auditorium at True Devotion High School and listen during this damnable Purity and Love Festival, but I almost can’t take it. The words blur into one another, and I can’t make out anything Yolanda is saying. It’s probably better that I don’t -- that much hate for her own deceased daughter is mind-boggling.
“Kai, are you okay?” Wren asks. She puts a hand on my shoulder. It calms me, just a little bit.
“Of course not,” I mutter as I grab the armrests on my seat. If I wanted to, I could break them, but I have more control over my powers than that.
A nearby girl raises her finger to her lips and makes a shushing noise. I decide to ignore her, but I can’t ignore Yolanda’s next words. Unfortunately, Wren’s hand has calmed me enough so that I can hear them.
“Some may ask me why I don’t forgive my daughter Trixie for choosing darkness. Forgiveness in the face of such deep sin would be weakness. She had evil in her heart, and she chose to let it win, refusing treatment for her perversion and choosing death instead,” Yolanda says. She leans over the podium, practically spitting each word. Her face is twisted in ugliness.
I take a deep breath. Wren finally removes her hand from my shoulder, and I shake my head and sigh. Forgiveness isn’t weakness -- to love and care for someone despite what they did takes strength, and, besides, Trixie didn’t even do anything wrong. It’s the Church’s teachings on same-sex relationships that are the true wrong.
“I don’t care if I get in trouble,” I say. I stand up -- I just can’t take more of Yolanda’s words.
Wren stands up with me. I look at her. “You don’t have to get in trouble with me,” I say.
She actually rolls her eyes and puts a hand on her hip. “Like I would freaking care about getting in trouble,” she says.
The same girl who shushed us looks at us with wide eyes. “What are you doing?” she breathes.
“We both have a sudden onset of vicious stomach flu -- do you want to risk getting puked on?” Wren mutters. She holds her hands over her stomach, though the effect is somewhat ruined by how she doesn’t sound sick at all.
Without waiting for an answer, we grab our things and walk right past her and out the auditorium. Wren glares at Yolanda, and I just walk on by, wishing I could use my powers to make her shut up. Once we’re outside the auditorium, I crash down onto a bench near the door, dropping my bag to the floor. Wren places her bag next to mine and sits beside me. She rolls her eyes again.
“Well, that lady is full of it,” she mutters.
“Obviously,” I sigh. I place my elbows on my knees and sink my head into my hands. For some reason, I’m exhausted, though Yolanda’s rhetoric isn’t anything I haven’t heard before. The intensity of her hate was especially bad, though. It was like she was an actress in a Church morality play who was trying too hard to display the proper angry emotion, only all that hate was real.
Wren places her hand on my shoulder again. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” she says.
“I’ll be fine -- just give me a moment,” I say. I lift my head and fold my hands into my lap.
“If someone sees us, I can puke on command so people will actually believe the stomach flu excuse,” Wren says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? I...don’t think that will be necessary,” I say.
“Are you sure?” she asks. She lets go of my shoulder and turns around so suddenly I almost get whiplash. “What is she doing outside the auditorium during the speech?”
I look where Wren does and see a tall redheaded girl I vaguely recognize. I think her name’s Gemma, but I’m not entirely sure about that. Whoever she is, she’s in a worse state than either Wren or I. She stands and leans against the wall, and, even from here, I can tell her breathing’s strained. The girl looks too pale, as well. I don’t think she liked the speech any more than we did.
“That’s Gemma. She’s a real Church goody-goody, always answering questions in my English class like it’s the most important thing in the universe,” Wren says. She narrows her eyes at the girl. “Why would she freak out over Yolanda’s speech?”
Now, I’m curious. Why would a “real Church goody-goody” find anything distressing in a standard “Purity and Love” speech?
I must be looking at Gemma too intensely because she notices us and looks at us with wide green eyes. She shakes her head vigorously. “Don’t -- don’t tell anyone you found me out here, please?” she says.
Wren snorts and shakes her own head. “We’re not gonna tell on you. Do I look like a Church snitch to you?” The laughter is evident in her voice.
“Well, no...” Gemma says. She looks unsure, though.
“We really won’t tell,” I say, trying to make myself sound as reassuring as possible. “Why don’t you have a seat with us?”
Next to me, Wren shifts. I can’t tell if she’s curious or if she thinks my invite is a bad idea. I scoot closer to her so that there’s space next to me on the little bench. Gemma takes a seat -- her posture is rather proper, and her hands are folded in her lap a bit like mine are. She leans forward slightly and takes a furtive glance at Wren.
“I -- I...hope you don’t mind if I...” she trails off.
Wren leans forward herself and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t mind if you what?” she says.
“If I -- if I...say I hated that Yolanda’s speech,” she says. Her voice shakes, and it’s barely above a whisper, but there’s a surprising amount of venom in it.
“Mind? Ha, if we were the type to mind, we wouldn’t even be out here,” Wren mutters, leaning back against the wall.
“I suppose not,” Gemma murmurs. She avoids both our eyes, instead staring at the ceiling.
“But I do have a question -- why would you hate the speech? Aren’t you all into the Church?” Wren asks. The curiosity in her voice is obvious.
“I...am, but...Trixie was her own daughter, and she can’t even show the least bit of sadness or -- some compassion? Even if she sinned?” she says. She stares at the floor now. The girl looks...lost. I imagine she’s never said these things aloud to anyone before. I remain silent, wondering where this conversation will go.
“Well, you know the Church doesn’t exactly teach people to be compassionate towards those who are ‘deviant,’” Wren says. She briefly glances at me, and the knowing is clear in her eyes.
“I -- I know that. I know it isn’t very Churchly of me to think so, but...Yolanda is -- is wrong to hate her daughter like that. Trixie might have...chosen a destructive path, but...all that hate? During a festival that’s supposed to be about love? It -- it doesn’t seem like what the gods wanted for this time,” she says, keeping her eyes on the floor.
“It’s not,” I say. There’s such sadness and fear in this girl’s bearing that my heart hurts for her. I can’t tell exactly why she’s so distressed, and I shouldn’t assume anything, but I know what attitudes like Yolanda’s have done to many, many people who deserved love rather than the hate they got.
“I should probably go back and get my bag, but I -- don’t think I can handle it if that woman is still speaking,” Gemma says. She moves like she’s about to get up, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her. Gemma’s eyes widen, and she flinches, but she does sit back down.
“Don’t go back yet -- I think she’s probably still speaking,” I say.
“Just tell anybody who asks that you got a bad case of sudden-onset stomach flu from us,” Wren says. She’s smiling slightly.
Gemma raises an eyebrow. “Will anybody actually believe that?” she says.
“I can make them believe it,” Wren says. Her eyes sparkle, and she seems a little too eager to try throwing up on command.
I sigh. Tevaren’s society has gone so far off course that it seems amazing it even still functions. Of course, dysfunctional societies can certainly thrive, but I don’t have to like it. There’s not much I can do, though.
That doesn’t stop me from wishing I could fix things.