The Church and Its Orbs - Reformed Souls
More The Church and Its Orbs -- enjoy!
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“You know, some people say you shouldn’t be allowed to wear green,” Kelsey says, her deep blue eyes twinkling. I know she doesn’t care about unspoken customs, or about my no soul status. Some say I shouldn’t be allowed a green dress, as green is one of the colors of the Church. The forbidden Church color is purple, and green is considered more “of the people” -- but some don’t consider me a person at all because my orb didn’t glow.
My stylist decided I look best in green, anyway. Harmony Sexual Reeduction Center, with its stellar reputation, hired an actual team of stylists to prepare the apparently-reformed girls and boys for the final phase in their rehabilitation -- a Pure Mate Auction. Even I, as a no soul, have to participate and allow boys to bid on me. Nobody is likely to pay so much as a single cent for a no soul, but I have to show I’m cured -- or else.
“The dress...matches my eyes?” I say, trying to smile. I look down at my dress, the satiny material flares wide from my waist, the full tulle underskirt peeking out from underneath. Tiny sleeves barely cover my shoulders, but the scooped neckline is modest.
Kelsey’s pale pink dress hangs nicely from her curves; it doesn’t flare out like mine does. When she moves, the jewels sewn into it reflect the light backstage at the auction.
“Nervous too?” Kelsey says. Sandy blonde curls frame her face, tumbling oh-so-carefully from her updo -- an updo that happens to be a wig. After all, the girls in my class at Harmony had their hair cut as punishment and none of us have been here long enough to regrow that much hair.
My own fake updo sits uneasily on my head, and I worry it might come off during the auction. Part of me almost hopes it does, consequences be damned to oblivion.
Girls, all properly styled in various fancy gowns, gather in clusters and chatter in low voices. The sounds layer over one another, and I wonder what the others are saying. From what I can tell, though, everyone’s nerves are still as obvious as anything.
According to Kelsey, my nerves are as obvious as anything. I clasp my hands together and force myself not to twist any of my fake updo around my finger. It doesn’t feel like actual hair, anyway. My nails have been painted to match my dress, and even my earrings match -- they actually pierced my ears for this. That hurt.
“Yes, I’m nervous,” I mutter. I lower my voice. “I...don’t want anybody to bid on me.”
Kelsey leans close to me. “I don’t want anyone to bid on me, either. The gods...I can’t imagine they’re smiling on this,” she whispers.
“They’re not,” I mutter. Kai won’t be smiling when I take the stage -- I have an idea where they’re holding him, but I have no easy way to sneak out and reach it.
Zara, the manager for this auction strides into the backstage “Places, girls, places,” she shouts, waving her arms. “It’s time to begin.”
A electric current rips through the room, and everybody snaps to attention. My heart pounds in my chest, and I don’t have time to so much as say “good luck” to Kelsey. I wouldn’t risk it, not with Zara here. Nausea accompanies my pounding heart, and I want to throw up. I keep that under control, but the whole situation sickens me.
Under Zara’s guidance, the backstage becomes a dizzying whirl of fabric as each girl lines up at her designated entrance. There are two lines, and we all file onto our pre-assigned spot on the steps brought in specifically for the auction. An unusually energetic Church hymn plays to introduce us, and I almost laugh at how ridiculous the choice of music is.
As we take our spots, I slip into another plane of awareness. Being so tall, I’m on the second set of steps, but it doesn’t even matter. I can’t see the audience well -- with the lighting, they are a blur of shadowy, indistinct faces. That includes the boys in the front rows who will bid on us. Perhaps I try not to see anybody clearly. Instead, I think about Wren and how much I love her. Then, my mind turns to Marty and how I pushed him down the bleachers at that park. I imagine pushing him down these steps in front of everybody.
Reformed, I should welcome a chaperoned date with someone like Marty -- if I weren’t a no soul. Still, the sexually reformed Gemma should wish for such a date, even if it’s out of her reach -- but I don’t.
The announcer, Ellen, takes center stage with her microphone. “Welcome, everyone, to Harmony Sexual Reeducation Center’s Sixteenth Annual Pure Mate Auction.” Weak cheers greet her announcement.
“Today’s young men and women have worked very hard to purge themselves of their corruption. They’ve endured trials and tribulations those born without such debilitating weakness will never know. You are the lucky ones, and, today, these reformed souls will begin the final stage in their journey to join you in the realm of the pure and Churchly,” Ellen says, her voice reverberating.
My stomach churns -- Harmony has done nothing to make me want guys. If anything, it has done the opposite. Now, more than ever, I realize nothing’s wrong with my liking girls. Hearing Ellen’s speech, that realization crystallizes in my mind, more solid than ever before. I wonder how I’m going to make my little speech advertising myself when I go up for auction.
“Each young woman will tell us why she’s worthy of one of these young men, and each young man will end this evening with a proper prize,” Ellen says.
I am nobody’s prize.
“Before we announce the first young woman, let us have a moment to thank the gods that these misguided, corrupted children have a chance at a better tomorrow.” Ellen lowers her head in silent prayer.
While I lower my head as well, I pray for Kai’s wellbeing. Will he be alright?
“And now we begin,” she yells. I open my eyes to see her raising her arms into the air. Ellen brings the microphone she holds back to her lips. “Wendy Aaronson will join us.”
Wendy walks down and takes the microphone from the announcer.
“Tell us, Ms. Aaronson, why are you worthy of a date?” Ellen asks.
“I’m friendly; I’m fun, and I know to follow Church guidelines. I smile, and I’ll make any boy gracious enough to choose me very happy,” Wendy says. Her voice cracks.
Once the bidding on Wendy begins, everything merges together. I can’t bear to hear boys shout out how much they think -- or pretend to think -- she’s worth.
Even so, I can’t block out when she goes for $200. Weak cheers, like the ones at the start of the auction, answer the winning bid. Wendy’s winner walks onto stage, and Ellen congratulates the “happy couple.” The winner kisses Wendy on the cheek and takes her hand. From here, I can see the strained smiles that don’t reach the couple’s eyes.
They walk offstage, and Ellen calls another girl. The process repeats itself over and over. Ellen calls girl after girl -- and my turn inches closer, since I’m only around the middle of alphabet.
“Gemma Lanphere will join us,” she says.
My stomach leaps into my throat, along with my heart. Taking a deep breath, I walk to the front of the stage. Every single inch of me tenses up. The smile I wear feels faker than the hair atop my head.
“Tell us, Ms. Lanphere, why are you worthy of a date?” Ellen asks.
It’s my time to shine.
I grab the microphone from Ellen, each word of my prepared speech clear in my mind.
“I’m not worthy of a date because I don’t want one,” I say.
The world freezes -- what did I just say?
Something possesses me, and I straighten my back and look out at the crowd. That tension in my body turns to steel, and I don’t care anymore. Fire like I’ve never known blazes in my eyes -- I can feel it.
“This place is wrong,” I say. My voice doesn’t crack, and it doesn’t waver. It’s stronger than I thought possible, and nobody dares to interrupt me.
“You say you want to help us, but you don’t. You want to make us into something we’re not, just because you don’t like what we are -- all based on some misguided notion of righteousness. You’ve tortured us, humiliated us, degraded us, all in the name of the Church and the gods. You say we “seds” are corrupt and must be fixed, but we’re not corrupt. The Church hates us and puts us down, but they have no right.” Energy crackles through the air, and all eyes are on me.
“People should be free to love as they choose. It’s not loving your own gender that’s wrong -- it’s hating those that do. People say I have no soul, but I have more soul than anybody who would have me arrested or worse just for whom I happen to love.” I think again of Wren and how much I love her, no matter what might happen to us.
I take a deep breath, but I’m not done.
“My name is Gemma Lanphere; I like girls, and -- there. Is. Nothing. Wrong. With. Me.”
Headless of the pain, I rip off the wig pinned to my head and toss it to the ground.
I stand tall, before the truth of what I did sinks in.
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“You know, some people say you shouldn’t be allowed to wear green,” Kelsey says, her deep blue eyes twinkling. I know she doesn’t care about unspoken customs, or about my no soul status. Some say I shouldn’t be allowed a green dress, as green is one of the colors of the Church. The forbidden Church color is purple, and green is considered more “of the people” -- but some don’t consider me a person at all because my orb didn’t glow.
My stylist decided I look best in green, anyway. Harmony Sexual Reeduction Center, with its stellar reputation, hired an actual team of stylists to prepare the apparently-reformed girls and boys for the final phase in their rehabilitation -- a Pure Mate Auction. Even I, as a no soul, have to participate and allow boys to bid on me. Nobody is likely to pay so much as a single cent for a no soul, but I have to show I’m cured -- or else.
“The dress...matches my eyes?” I say, trying to smile. I look down at my dress, the satiny material flares wide from my waist, the full tulle underskirt peeking out from underneath. Tiny sleeves barely cover my shoulders, but the scooped neckline is modest.
Kelsey’s pale pink dress hangs nicely from her curves; it doesn’t flare out like mine does. When she moves, the jewels sewn into it reflect the light backstage at the auction.
“Nervous too?” Kelsey says. Sandy blonde curls frame her face, tumbling oh-so-carefully from her updo -- an updo that happens to be a wig. After all, the girls in my class at Harmony had their hair cut as punishment and none of us have been here long enough to regrow that much hair.
My own fake updo sits uneasily on my head, and I worry it might come off during the auction. Part of me almost hopes it does, consequences be damned to oblivion.
Girls, all properly styled in various fancy gowns, gather in clusters and chatter in low voices. The sounds layer over one another, and I wonder what the others are saying. From what I can tell, though, everyone’s nerves are still as obvious as anything.
According to Kelsey, my nerves are as obvious as anything. I clasp my hands together and force myself not to twist any of my fake updo around my finger. It doesn’t feel like actual hair, anyway. My nails have been painted to match my dress, and even my earrings match -- they actually pierced my ears for this. That hurt.
“Yes, I’m nervous,” I mutter. I lower my voice. “I...don’t want anybody to bid on me.”
Kelsey leans close to me. “I don’t want anyone to bid on me, either. The gods...I can’t imagine they’re smiling on this,” she whispers.
“They’re not,” I mutter. Kai won’t be smiling when I take the stage -- I have an idea where they’re holding him, but I have no easy way to sneak out and reach it.
Zara, the manager for this auction strides into the backstage “Places, girls, places,” she shouts, waving her arms. “It’s time to begin.”
A electric current rips through the room, and everybody snaps to attention. My heart pounds in my chest, and I don’t have time to so much as say “good luck” to Kelsey. I wouldn’t risk it, not with Zara here. Nausea accompanies my pounding heart, and I want to throw up. I keep that under control, but the whole situation sickens me.
Under Zara’s guidance, the backstage becomes a dizzying whirl of fabric as each girl lines up at her designated entrance. There are two lines, and we all file onto our pre-assigned spot on the steps brought in specifically for the auction. An unusually energetic Church hymn plays to introduce us, and I almost laugh at how ridiculous the choice of music is.
As we take our spots, I slip into another plane of awareness. Being so tall, I’m on the second set of steps, but it doesn’t even matter. I can’t see the audience well -- with the lighting, they are a blur of shadowy, indistinct faces. That includes the boys in the front rows who will bid on us. Perhaps I try not to see anybody clearly. Instead, I think about Wren and how much I love her. Then, my mind turns to Marty and how I pushed him down the bleachers at that park. I imagine pushing him down these steps in front of everybody.
Reformed, I should welcome a chaperoned date with someone like Marty -- if I weren’t a no soul. Still, the sexually reformed Gemma should wish for such a date, even if it’s out of her reach -- but I don’t.
The announcer, Ellen, takes center stage with her microphone. “Welcome, everyone, to Harmony Sexual Reeducation Center’s Sixteenth Annual Pure Mate Auction.” Weak cheers greet her announcement.
“Today’s young men and women have worked very hard to purge themselves of their corruption. They’ve endured trials and tribulations those born without such debilitating weakness will never know. You are the lucky ones, and, today, these reformed souls will begin the final stage in their journey to join you in the realm of the pure and Churchly,” Ellen says, her voice reverberating.
My stomach churns -- Harmony has done nothing to make me want guys. If anything, it has done the opposite. Now, more than ever, I realize nothing’s wrong with my liking girls. Hearing Ellen’s speech, that realization crystallizes in my mind, more solid than ever before. I wonder how I’m going to make my little speech advertising myself when I go up for auction.
“Each young woman will tell us why she’s worthy of one of these young men, and each young man will end this evening with a proper prize,” Ellen says.
I am nobody’s prize.
“Before we announce the first young woman, let us have a moment to thank the gods that these misguided, corrupted children have a chance at a better tomorrow.” Ellen lowers her head in silent prayer.
While I lower my head as well, I pray for Kai’s wellbeing. Will he be alright?
“And now we begin,” she yells. I open my eyes to see her raising her arms into the air. Ellen brings the microphone she holds back to her lips. “Wendy Aaronson will join us.”
Wendy walks down and takes the microphone from the announcer.
“Tell us, Ms. Aaronson, why are you worthy of a date?” Ellen asks.
“I’m friendly; I’m fun, and I know to follow Church guidelines. I smile, and I’ll make any boy gracious enough to choose me very happy,” Wendy says. Her voice cracks.
Once the bidding on Wendy begins, everything merges together. I can’t bear to hear boys shout out how much they think -- or pretend to think -- she’s worth.
Even so, I can’t block out when she goes for $200. Weak cheers, like the ones at the start of the auction, answer the winning bid. Wendy’s winner walks onto stage, and Ellen congratulates the “happy couple.” The winner kisses Wendy on the cheek and takes her hand. From here, I can see the strained smiles that don’t reach the couple’s eyes.
They walk offstage, and Ellen calls another girl. The process repeats itself over and over. Ellen calls girl after girl -- and my turn inches closer, since I’m only around the middle of alphabet.
“Gemma Lanphere will join us,” she says.
My stomach leaps into my throat, along with my heart. Taking a deep breath, I walk to the front of the stage. Every single inch of me tenses up. The smile I wear feels faker than the hair atop my head.
“Tell us, Ms. Lanphere, why are you worthy of a date?” Ellen asks.
It’s my time to shine.
I grab the microphone from Ellen, each word of my prepared speech clear in my mind.
“I’m not worthy of a date because I don’t want one,” I say.
The world freezes -- what did I just say?
Something possesses me, and I straighten my back and look out at the crowd. That tension in my body turns to steel, and I don’t care anymore. Fire like I’ve never known blazes in my eyes -- I can feel it.
“This place is wrong,” I say. My voice doesn’t crack, and it doesn’t waver. It’s stronger than I thought possible, and nobody dares to interrupt me.
“You say you want to help us, but you don’t. You want to make us into something we’re not, just because you don’t like what we are -- all based on some misguided notion of righteousness. You’ve tortured us, humiliated us, degraded us, all in the name of the Church and the gods. You say we “seds” are corrupt and must be fixed, but we’re not corrupt. The Church hates us and puts us down, but they have no right.” Energy crackles through the air, and all eyes are on me.
“People should be free to love as they choose. It’s not loving your own gender that’s wrong -- it’s hating those that do. People say I have no soul, but I have more soul than anybody who would have me arrested or worse just for whom I happen to love.” I think again of Wren and how much I love her, no matter what might happen to us.
I take a deep breath, but I’m not done.
“My name is Gemma Lanphere; I like girls, and -- there. Is. Nothing. Wrong. With. Me.”
Headless of the pain, I rip off the wig pinned to my head and toss it to the ground.
I stand tall, before the truth of what I did sinks in.