Under His Rule

Instead, I continue walking. Is there another exit? I have to find one before things get out of control. Because who knows what’s going to happen at a meeting like this.

“Keep walking,” the burly man growls.

I smile gently at him, trying not to be so obvious in my ignorance.

I wonder if I’m the first one who got inside without an invitation. If I’m the only one who stumbled into this mess.

When I get to the main area, I think I have my answer.

My jaw drops as I look around at the hundreds of people watching a few people on stage talk about religion. Many of them look like regular folks such as me, who probably got in just like I did because they were curious about what went on in here.

But unlike me, they probably want to know why they should join.

All I want is to find that man; the one with the symbol on his hand.

There must be a reason he has that tattoo and why I’m wearing a scarf with that same symbol on it. It can’t be a coincidence, right?

I move through the crowd, listening to the speaker on the stage.

“God is within us all. You must understand he watches over everything you do. God is not right or wrong, God is everything and both. God is all around us. He created every living being and the world. He created us exactly as we are. With love. With compassion. With needs. With all our inhibitions and flaws. And he loves us all. There is no reason you should prohibit yourself from your natural instincts. Why should you punish yourself for doing exactly what God intended? What you were made of.”

“What about sex then?” someone in the crowd asks.

The speaker, an older, gray-haired man with a beard as big as the burly man in front of the door, licks his lips. A tepid smile inches through the cracks, fading as quickly as it came. “God … God’s love is unending. Were you not born without your clothes? Were you not born with love in your heart? Were you not born with needs and wants? Only adults refer to this idea that love must only be given to those who deserve it. But this idea doesn’t stem from God; it stems from fear. It stems from the human inability to understand emotions. To understand that it is natural to feel and have needs. Sex is only a natural part of that.”

“So you’re saying God wants us to have sex?” someone says. “With like everyone?”

Some people burst out into laughter and giggles.

The speaker nods. “Under certain circumstances … yes.”

The serious tone in his voice completely stops the laughter.

“Awesome, I think I’ll join then,” one guy in the crowd comments. More snorts ensue among his buddies along with obscene gestures meant to rile up the ladies standing next to them.

The speaker clears his throat. “We will start the applicant process but be aware that only the worthy will be accepted. What that means is entirely up to the Family’s protocol as outlined in our statute, which you can read once you’ve made it through the initial screening.”

“Screening? No one said we’d go through that,” the same guy boldly states, trying to get his friends to agree.

The speaker looks up and blinks once, controlled. “No one said you were going to.”

The guy seems confused. Then, out of nowhere, three other burly men appear and walk over to him, threatening him with their physical size as they force him toward the exit.

“Hey, I didn’t do shit. What do you want?”

“Out,” one of the burly men says, pointing at the open door.

“What the hell? You fuckers make no sense. Whatever,” the guy says, throwing up his hands before shrugging the burly men off and sauntering off toward the door I came through.

Everyone looks at him as though he’s a black sheep.

The unwanted one.

And more and more people start to flock toward the speaker.

“That is what happens when you don’t take God seriously. Only the devout are able to see the light.”

People hang on his every word, and I’m left questioning whose lead I should follow … the crowd or the man who just got kicked out. The smart thing to do would be to leave, but I can’t until I have what I came here for.

Taking a few steps closer, I watch the crowd disperse when a man on the side of the stage sets up a table and a seat down below, placing a few stacks of papers on top. I glance around the room as people peek over each other’s shoulders, trying to get a view of the documents. But all I see are the men on the stage and a few beside it, barely hiding behind a curtain as though they want to remain unseen. But I see them.