Adam Ash

Your daily entertainment scout. Whatever is happening out there, you'll find the best writing about it in here.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

JESUS NATION SEX REBEL, mini-chapter 11


The Hiss Master led them in a song. Then the preacher chosen for the occasion, who happened to be Reverend Redburn, delivered an impassioned sermon. Next, on a screen to their left, a short documentary was shown about the Transgressor’s misdeeds. There was a lot of hissing, especially during the death-row interview. What made it worse was that the Transgressor was male-animal handsome. His satanic words fell from angelic lips.

Someone had had the foresight to subtitle the interview; otherwise it would have been impossible to know what the Transgressor was saying through all the hissing.

A convoy of three black cars drove up to the stage. A number of burly men stepped out of the front and back cars. They opened the back door of the car in the middle. A figure stepped out covered from head to toe in black, like an infidel Muslim female. The figure was led on to the stage. All eyes were on the black-clad apparition. Then the long robe was lifted, and there stood the Transgressor, his good-looking features gleaming in the setting sun.

He was dressed in a simple smock over simple dark blue pants. He smiled with white, even teeth -- a smile that might have been deemed sweetly innocent under normal circumstances, but now seemed all the more evil for its sweetness.

Adam’s hate was a flame, leaping from his chest into his face. He wanted to reach out and strangle the Transgressor with his own hands. Watch the face distend, the skin turn blue, the eyes bulge, the tongue protrude, the last breath escape the foul lungs.

Intense hissing inspirited the crowd, like a bow tying all individual emotions together. The Transgressor had a satanic beauty, an evil charm, and hissing was the only way to fend off his morbid charisma.

They should have dyed his hair black, Adam thought. Now he looks too much like us. Maybe that was the point. None of us should think of ourselves as outside the reach of the stake.

The burly men led the Transgressor to the center of the stage. They picked up some medieval-looking shackles to manacle him. He held out his hands with alacrity, as if he were looking forward to what was to come.

There had been much debate about whether the Transgressor should be allowed to say something in his last seconds on earth. Reformation Events had decided that they could not forgo the drama of a final word from him. It was a risk, though. They could hardly vet what he was going to say. It would not look good if they gagged him in mid-sentence either. Anyway, who was going to decide whether anything he said was appropriate? It was one of those things Reformation Events could not control, like an actor going on too long at the Biblical Oscars. But they were sure that his words would be regarded as very evil, so it was safe in terms of the Truth is Power Protocols.

Slowly the Transgressor was hoisted into the air, until he hung six feet off the ground, where his feet found a ledge to stand on. Using the stepladder, the men ran a chain around his body until he was securely fastened to the stake.

Beautiful youths of both genders began to stack wood under his feet, crumpling up newspaper for the bottom lining, kindling next, then twigs, and then long logs which rested against his legs. More wood followed, till only his neck and head were visible above the pyramid. Then a microphone was lifted to his lips on a boom.

The Transgressor had taken a great interest in the stacking of the wood; now he looked out at the audience. He smiled again. Adam saw the many heads in front of him lean forward. Nobody hissed. They wanted to hear what the Transgressor had to say.


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