Pain and Paradox [BXB]

Chapter 1: The Exposure

AUTHOR(S) NOTE: 

- Update (11/26/2018) 

It's Sunday, which meant waking up 2 hours early. 1 hour getting ready, 10 minutes driving to church, and the other 50 minutes welcoming people for service. I, however, luckily don't have to greet anyone. Geez, that would be a nightmare. I'd get checked out literally every second. Instead, I work in the technical booth, which overlooks the amphitheatre. It was like any other Sunday morning, uploading files from yesterday night in order to prepare for the teaching today. I was on the computer, readying the welcome screen, projecting a warm glow across the theatre, lighting it a crisp, burning orange. People had begun flowing in for the service. Our attendance was surprising. For a town of 25,000 people, we had a huge turnout on Sundays. It wasn't like a small town church, it was like a Broadway theatre. Thanks to years of donation and investments, my father has been able to build this church from something small to something big. It meant a lot to him, and it showed.

The magic time arrived, 11:30 AM - servicemen closed the doors and their slamming boomed through the amphitheatre. It remained silent as everyone began their morning prayers, my father signalling with his bow concurrent to the audience. The stage remained commanding, at the front and center of the auditorium, with the seats giving way, curving around the stage. The incline remained precipitous, containing the authority of God's holy word. The walls made way for a doming ceiling, lined with lights of all sorts, all serving for the mural painted on the ceiling. It was an absolute work of art.

"Hello everyone, thank you for attending today. For our younger audience, we bless you today, ensuring that your school year, starting tomorrow, will remain in goodwill of yourselves, your parents, and God," my father smiled, looking at everyone as if he was staring right into their souls. He had his hands lifted in front of them, dropping them by his side when he next spoke. "We are going to begin with worship this morning. If everyone would please stand."

Everyone rose, as if robots programmed to follow their leader. The morning went on as usual. J.R., who was working in the booth with me, turned the audio on, giving me a sort of cockeyed look signalling to put the lyrics onto the projector. I projected it onto the screen. Everyone stopped - everyone stopped so abruptly. The singer's stopped, the instruments stopped, the entire world stopped. My heart stopped. I looked up.

"Hell, what the heck is happening now?" I cursed in absolute terror, seeing an image that should never have been on that screen. It was me - kissing a guy from outside of this town. Shit, I had just been exposed, and this would not end well, and definitely not in Williston. Where the hell did this come from? It wasn't any of us, it was taken outside of my bedroom window, which was clearly a mistake to leave the curtains wide open. In embarrassment and fear, I ran, I ran so fast outside - well, at least I tried to. Everyone was already trying to make their way up the stairs toward the technical booth. I was swamped, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. I had sort of come out, in a way. I guess? Nevertheless, my hands were shaking, my legs were quivering as everyone yelled, screamed, badgered, vexed, berated, and accosted me about being a sinner. A damned sinner. Everyone kept nearing at me, screaming Bible verses, pointing at me, crying at me, yelling at me. I screamed. I closed my eyes, I tried to forget that any of this was even happening. Life was getting miserable, and it would stay that way.

I began to break down, my heart beating so fast that it felt like it would explode out of my chest. I could feel the blood coursing through my body, the temperature rising so fast. It felt an oven in here. My brother looked disgusted, rolling his eyes at me and turning away. I understood what Murphy felt like. Poor Murphy. I passed out from the panic attack, the environment remaining turbulent. I was scared. Ghastly scared.