SUMMER OF WHUMP - DAY 13 - SACRIFICED
Orfeu Whumpee my beloved.
@summer-of-whump @whumpzone , @tears-and-lilies , @cupcakes-and-pain , @twistedcaretaker , @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight , @pinkraindropsfell
CW: Minor whump; religion-themed whump; cult abuse; institutional abuse; kneeling over sharp object; gaslight; exhaustion; whipping;
"Breathe, Enoch" Father instructs, pushing his trembling form down, back into his knees. It was hard to sustain himself like that, kneeling sharp, tiny rocks. His knees were bruising and soon would start bleeding "Remember, you are doing this for God. It's a sacrifice, to atone for your sins. You sacrifice your sinning body, the mortal life, to purify your immortal soul. Only if the soul is pure will you be allowed into the Kingdom of Heaven"
He whimpered softly, shifting his weight as if that would help. The pebbles dug deeper on the skin of his knees, starting to form wounds and meld. If he stood over them long enough, they would get stuck in his skin, he wouldn’t be able to pull them out by himself.
Father walked behind him, picking up the ritual whip. It was easier when there were other people doing it as well. Then, there would be music, and chanting and congratulations at the end. They would be cleansed as a group. It felt less personal, less humiliating to know he wasn’t the only one, in front of the prying eyes of the congregation.
But he found himself in this room more than any member of his congregation. His sins, for what was worth, seemed to be unforgivable, ingrained to him like second nature. Yet he tried. He tried to ignore the people watching, and focus on the moment, on his prayer, on his love for God. He closed his eyes, pretended it was Just him, Father, the heavy scent of wax from burning candles, the gloomy altar… and the otherworldly congregation: the shadows and monsters only he could see, watching him.
"Are you ready to atone for your sins, child?"
"I want to atone, Father," he whimpered. It was true. He just wanted to be good. He wanted God to love him. He wanted to be worthy. And it was all important. God needed them to want to atone. It had to be done voluntarily. It wasn’t ‘punishment’, it was purification, sacrifice, it was God’s love.
"…Your prayer might begin”
...he bowed his head in submission and adoration, to the loving God. He started to pray. He knew the words by heart, reciting them flawlessly, but couldn’t help making detours, in his mind. Begging for strength to endure the cleansing, and that he, somehow… didn’t commit sins again. If he had God by his side, to guide him, show the way… He truly just wanted to be good. In his deepest fantasies… He imagined himself being an acolyte, himself a vessel for God to speak his word.
...As the whip came down on his back, he let the words take control of him. It was easier that way, focusing on the words, the prayer, in God’s love. Not in pain. That, that should be secondary, meaningless in comparison to his faith.
Because the whip on his back was temporary pain, was good, was cleansing.
But the fire of hell was eternal, and he, more than anybody else, needed God's mercy to escape from there. He wanted to be a vessel for God, but right now… He was closer to the Devil.
Sometimes he wondered if he even could change. How many times had he been here, under this whip? How many wounds and blood and lashes, and none of them had made him less of a monster. Lost, lost cause.
Then, he reminded himself that God was Mercy, eternal and pure and love. But for such a dirty sinner like him, that fell back on his vices time and time again, on an endless circle... He wasn’t sure he would ever truly be worthy of Said Mercy.
The sheep that was lost, God brought back. None left behind.
But maybe he wasn’t a sheep, after all. Maybe he was a snake, his teeth and eyes were a sign of the times, his shadows and monsters were the demons of hell announcing their attack…
Maybe.
Father said he was a child, that in time he would learn better. He hung onto that hope, even if every other child in the congregation was already better. They were born better, pure, and innocent. They didn't have teeth to be pulled out, none of them atoned through the whip and the pebbles, they just prayed. Prayed and prayed and prayed to the God of love, that to them had always been kind, a friend, a guide. But to him, had always been silent.
He feels tears starting to slide down his face, and warm blood from the gashes. Father set the whip down, and placed his hand on his forehead, soft fingers among the dark hair.
"Oh, Lord. Forgive your lost son who fell into sin, for we are weak without your guidance" he started "Forgive your son and let him return to your love and grace, for he atoned in blood"
He closed his eyes, trembling, as he kept praying for his soul, as people left the church, and the chanting died down.
He needed Father's help to get up, his legs shaking like twigs on the wind, blood streaming from his bruised knees, some pebbles still stuck on his skin.
He breathed in relief as he was led back to his cave-like room, put on his mattress.
"...Finish your prayers now" Father instructed ""I'll be back by dusk to clean your wound"
"Yes, Father," he whimpered softly.
This was the hardest part of his probation. Father left him alone, in the dark room with only one candle lit. It was gloomy, he was tired and in pain, and the monotonous nature of prayer quickly swung him to sleep.
He tried to fight it, because it was wrong. He had to stay awake and finish his penitence. He had to. But he was a worthless dirty sinner, and fell asleep, to his awful, dark dreams of death and suffering.
…And he was worse, later. When Father asked him if he finished the prayers first, he said he did, so he wouldn't get in trouble. He couldn't do this all again.
Father smiled at him. And he was a dirty little liar, who ruined his entire sacrifice. He deserved no mercy. He would burn in hell and it would be out of his own doing.
