Immaculate Misconceptions Motionless In White

Leviticus 19:28

Chris' face was badly bruised. There was a cut above his right eye that bled and his left eye (on top of the previous swelling) was beginning to swell up again and adorned a dark purple color. His lip was cut and bleeding, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. When the men rushed him, Chris gave his all to fight them off. He kicked, he punched, he scratched, and he bit. But, there were way too many for him to handle and his injuries slowed a lot of his movements. They all looked down at him curled up on the floor, coughing up his own blood as they regained their breath from the previous struggle. The man with the light blue jeans barked something at them that Chris' couldn't understand with his ringing ears but he could feel them dragging him, dirt and pebbles digging into his skin and embedding themselves into the cuts in his skin. They kept him on his back and hands yanked at his shirt. He squirmed, as if it would help but it would seem that he knew it wouldn't. They hooked their fingers into the rips and pulled until the shirt began to tear to pieces that were yanked from his body. He felt exposed and cold... But the words of the priest still rang in his ear. Chris had plenty of tattoos including a full sleeve that started at the top of his arm all the way to his hand and knuckles, his other arm was bare and on any other day he would still be planning tattoos to cover it but the only ink there was on his knuckles. On his shoulder blades he had an unfinished tattoo that just had scripted words and the rest of his chest was clean of ink. He had maybe 3 tattoos on his legs but besides his tattoo count, what did they want with them? What were they gonna do to him because of them?

Chris' hearing was going in and out so he couldn't quite catch what the man instructed next but he felt something cold touch the back of his legs and the vibrations of threads breaking. They were cutting his jeans with a hunting knife to expose his legs and whatever ink he had on them. The pants legs were pulled from his body roughly sending jolts of pain throughout his legs. Now, the jeans only landed mid-thigh and Chris felt naked. They yanked him up like a rag doll and sat him in a chair that was similar to the electric chair when it came to the restraints that adorned it but without them it could pass as your common kitchen chair. As they strapped him down, Chris spat the blood that pooled in his mouth in a random direction and held his head high. Instead of wrapping the chest strap across his chest and upper arms, they looped it under his arms and simply across his chest. The man with the glasses pushed the cart to his left side and grabbed a set of gloves before handing a set to the man with the blue jeans. The priest stood to the far right of Chris with his bible still open, he seemed to be murmuring words more to himself than towards Chris. The man with the blue jeans approached Chris and grasped his chin, lifting Chris' face so he would stare him straight in the eye... Chris spat and man's face grew irritated,

He raised his hand high and slapped Chris hard enough to turn his head sharply, "You will not disrespect me in this house of God. In this house of God, I stand above you and you are nothing but garbage." He wagged a finger at him while wiping his face.

Chris inhaled a shaky breath, "Do those words come from a real man of God or a man who's thoughts are plagued by the fables of other men?" He managed, his voice identical to someone with a severely sore throat.

The man ignored him and waved at the rest of the men who stood scattered. They all scrambled like rodents to line up once again, a couple of feet in front of the chair. The man with the glasses uncovered the container, taking the spatula and mixing the contents. Blue jeans approached him again, this time grasping his ink covered arm and squeezing the skin causing Chris to attempt to jerk away from him.

He continued to inspect his arm, pinching and pulling the flesh, inspecting under his arm as if to check how much skin the tattoos covered. He looked up at Chris with a glare, "You've de-faced a shrine of God." He stated.

Chris scowled, "Let he without sin cast the first stone." He growled, jerking towards the man.

The man stood, as if taken aback by Chris' words. But their intentions didn't seem to falter.