1

The restraints were still pretty tight.

I couldn’t move my hands. They were still tied behind my back to the wooden chair, as well as my feet tied together to a chair leg. The ropes kept rubbing against my skin. They were so tight.

Oh God, where am I?

This place was God-free, I could tell that much. There were no sacred amulets, no alters, no black cloth. This room was bare. The only things were the door and my chair.

I began to pray silently to God, pleading for a way out. If I stayed here for any longer, I would miss the evening communion. Though I don’t know how long I’ve been here, I could almost sense when the prayers were to start.

I looked down at myself. The uniform that they gave me felt so strange; thick, blue slacks and a light shirt that had no sleeves. I almost felt naked without my ceremonial robe, a thick, red garb that had sleeves that stretched to my wrists and almost touched the floor, and had a large red hood.

There was a soft and steady sound gradually getting louder. I looked up at the door.

Footsteps! My saviours have come! Thank you, Lord!

The footsteps stopped outside of the door. The knob turned quickly. I looked up, hopeful to see another hooded figure, but instead I saw the opposite.

A burly individual walked into the room and stood in front of me. I looked up, wincing as the light from the ceiling shone from behind this new person. The (obviously) non-follower glared down at me.

“What is your name?”

What an odd question. What is my name?

“Follower.”

The non-follower grunted and crossed his arms.

“What is your name?” he asked again slowly.

Why does this person continue to ask me such strange questions?

“Follower.” I stated once more.

“What is your name?”

“Follower.”

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

“Follower.”

The palm connected with my cheek. I winced a little.

“Your name is not ‘Follower’, idiot.” The person yelled, “What is your real name?”

I was so confused. My name was Follower. It’s what I was called in The Sect. Why wouldn’t he believe me?

“Follower.”

I was punched in the stomach this time. The figure repeated the question. Why won’t he stop?

“Follower.”

The person sighed in exasperation and punched me again, knocking me and my chair onto my side. My arm was caught underneath the weight of the chair and myself. I could feel the pain but ignored it. The abuser was coming towards me. A large fist grabbed my hair and raised me up again.

“Tell me your real name!”

“I told you my name! Stop asking me!”

“Your name is not ‘Follower!’ Tell me your real name!”

The pain was becoming too much to bear, but I still tried to ignore it.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me!”

“I’m asking you for your name!”

“Follower!”

The abuser let go of my hair and stepped back. I landed back on my side. The hands fumbled for a strap tied around his waist. It came loose and the figure folded it in two, holding one end.

“What is your name?”

The voice was calm now. What am I supposed to do?

“Follower.”

Crack!

The figure took the strap and slapped my side. The searing pain was too much. I whimpered. Even the High Priests didn’t slap our backs with the Whip of our Father this hard.

“What is your damn name?”

Crack!

Follower!”

Crack!

“Tell me your damn name!”

Crack!

Oh God, the pain is terrible! Please save me!

Crack!

I moaned out loud.

Crack!

“I don’t understand the question!”

“I just want to know your God damn name!”

The figure continued to slap me with the strap.

“I told you my name! Stop asking me for it!”

“Enough!”

The whipping stopped. The abuser turned around towards the door. I chose not to look for fear of another beating. I could feel a moist liquid dripping down my face and arms.

“Oh shit.”

The voice was much different than that of the violent figure. It was calm, almost gentle. I tried to open my eyes, but the one was unable to open more than halfway.

The new figure was facing the abuser, chastising him.

“What the hell are you doing? There’s no way we’re going to put him back to normal if you start treatment by beating him!”

“He wouldn’t answer the question.”

“This treatment isn’t instant!”

The new figure snapped its fingers.

“This takes time! Something would be wrong if he answered so quickly!”

The gentle individual looked at me.

”We need to patch him up. You made him bleed! This’ll probably scar him emotionally!”

The person walked towards me and pushed me upright. I felt better without all of the weight on my arm. I could hear the abuser leave the room. The other person began to untie me.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

The person – my saviour, I guess – sighed, though whether in sadness or relief, I couldn’t tell. It went behind me to untie my hands. When the ropes were loosened, I brought them forward, glancing at my wrists. They were sore, but there wasn’t too much damage.

I turned to the figure. “May I go now?”
”What?”
”May I go now?”

“What? Where?”

“Back.”

“Oh…no.”

I started to feel some anxiety. I couldn’t go back to the fellow worshippers? What was I to do?

“But…why not?”

“Umm…”

The figure thought for a moment, then continued.
”I’ll explain later. C’mon, you need to get cleaned up.”

“Then I may go?”

Nothing more was said.

An arm was outstretched to me. I looked at it for a moment, and then stood up. The arm was suddenly around me, almost supporting me. I shied away, but the arm still held me.

“Please don’t touch me.” I stated.
”Why not?”
”The teachings say that touching leads to sin.”

“Ah.”

The arm slowly left me. I was relieved. The teachings had to be upheld. I could hear the person mutter “This isn’t going to be easy.”