Real Christian

***Trigger Warning: the following contains slurs, hate speech, and depictions of overt racism and LGBTphobia. Intended for an adult audience. Read at your own risk.***

The streets, filled with grime, garbage, and desperation, had been where Trinity walked when the police found her. She stood out in a clean blue dress that went to her ankles, her brown hair brushed out and clipped in a bun with red highlights, her neck decorated in a silver cross, her makeup well placed on her rosey-peached face decorated in a white N-95 mask adorned with crosses in gold glitter.

“Police! Freeze!” one cop shouted as a group of them came in, all with assault weapons pointing right at her. A hush came over the alleyway saddled with: bag ladies with shopping carts full of random objects, hobos in long beards and dirty clothes, junkies tweaking out, frightened street urchins with doe eyes and their hands out.

Trinity froze at the command, fear racing through her mind.

“Everyone! Down on the ground! Hands on your heads!”

Trinity complied as she knelt before a burning barrel, giving warmth on the December night. In a hushed breath she whispered, “God, help! I do thy work in thy name.”

“I said on the ground!” an officer shouted in her ear as he pushed on her shoulder with the heel of his boot. She fell, her nose hitting worn pavement. She felt the plastic of zip ties wrap around her. The police were all around, shouting, kicking, pushing. Some of the alley folks tried to fight them - an encounter that ended with gunfire and spilled blood.

Didn’t take long before hands gripped her tied up arms and she was roughly lifted. The cop, dressed in a navy uniform with old bloodstains on it, looked her over. His peached face was made pale by the lights of the squad cars. He moved a hand to her face.

“You don’t need this!” the cop growled as he ripped the mask off her face and tossed it into the flaming barrel. “God gave you an immune system, trust in him.”

He dragged her to a black charger, pushing her into the back seat and slamming the door behind. Trinity sat up and watched the alley people be stuffed in paddy wagons - all being charged with vagrancy, most likely.

The officer spoke in ten-code to dispatch as he started the vehicle and drove it away from the alley and into the streets. The road ahead covered in a light fog attributed to the factories that surrounded the city. Such that had seen better days with broken street lamps all adorned with angels. The car bumped along potholes as it drove along the empty streets of boarded-up storefronts. They soon turned on a bridge made of wood, a sign on it saying “God’s Country” on it.

Off the bridge they entered a more fortunate neighbourhood of modest homes, each with Christmas Lights and nativity scenes. One home along the way had a wooden cross burning on it while a group of people, some white-robed and masked, others appeared in modest and clean everyday wear, stood and stared, chanting “Damn the faggot nigger!” Someone in the crowd threw a gasoline-soaked bottle in flames at the house. The car turned the corner as the house lit up.

Along the way they passed a church—the large building made of brick adorned with marble statues of angels. The steel of the railings leading up to the large, gold-polished door were well maintained as a tanned skinned man brushed the walkway. Along the streets of a better looking area, signs reminded people to “Protect the children, report all perverts!”, “Do not feed the homeless, or they will breed!”, and “Every life is sacred - abortion is murder!”

They drove around a square where a statue of the president stood in marbled form, well cared for and tall. A few people were seen kneeling before it, their hands clasped together in front of their faces.

The car came to a stop inside of a fortress of barbed wire and concrete. The cop dragged her out of the car and made her walk along the smooth pavement, passing signs reading “Remember the Blue Line!” and “Be on the lookout for illegals.” They walked into a brick and glass building where various guns were shown on display, from classic glocks to grenade launchers—anything to combat the war on drugs, children, and illegal immigrants.

The officer got a scanner out and ran it past her left arm, where the chip was placed by her parents a couple of decades ago when she was a baby—papers for later in life. It beeped, and he looked back at her.

“Trinity Camerson,” the cop read out. “I see there is already an outstanding warrant for your arrest.”

Trinity said nothing.

“Wonder how your parents would feel, hm?”

She remained silent as the cop took her mug shot and walked her into a holding cell. The room had cold concrete with a toilet visible to a man in a navy uniform with bars all around it.

He slammed the door behind her and stormed off.

With her sat a woman, younger than her, with black hair, large piercings along her face, and a black dress with a triple-moon symbol. She had gartered stockings along black knee-high boots, and tattoos all over her, including one on her arm of Lucifer’s looping signal.

On the bench across was… a man? He had buzzed blond hair on a round face and body. His jeans looked too baggy and his shirt was a sports jersey of some kind. He looked down on the floor while the other woman said in a taunting tone, “Jesus Freak? Watcha doing here?”

Trinity remained silent. The punk, possibly a witchcraft practitioner, pressed onward: “Seriously, you look like one of those bible-barbies you see on some polly’s arm. What does a Jesus-freak do that is so bad?”

“I have a name. Trinity,” she replied.

“Still, why you here?”

“Warrant.”

“For what?”

“Promoting Communism,” Trinity sighed in resignation.

“You? Commie? Really?” the punk gave a curious look.

“I volunteered for a soup kitchen,” Trinity simply said, “the police raided it.”

“You, Jesus Freak, feeding the hungry?” the woman laughed, “Isn’t that against god’s will? Capitalism is his system, and feeding vagrants makes more vagrants, amirite?”

“And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity Corrinthians thirteen thirteen,” Trinity replied. “It is the will of God, and Jesus, to give to the poor.”

The man gave a rude glare towards Trinity. “Ignore him,” she said. “He’s here for being a pervert.” The punk then leaned into Trinity and whispered into her ear “He has a vagina.” She laughed. “I know, you can’t associate with sin, right?”

She simply shrugged her shoulders. “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.” Trinity replied.

“You do you.” The punk rolled her eyes as the cop returned, opened the cell door while the guard stood with a gun trained on them. “Trinity Camerson?” he gestured her forward.

Trinity looked at the two.“Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account,” she said. “Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you. Matthew five eleven.”

Trinity parted and walked down the hallway, smooth with calls to take arms, and to protect fetuses - to purge the perverts from society so they don’t rape the children, and guns protect you from tyrannical government. Soon she stood in an interrogation room, a detective standing with a tablet looking over a case file.

The detective, in a dapper pin-striped brown suit with a five o’clock shadow on a face that should have been clean shaven, sat at a simple table. His hair, a brown colour, his skin pasty-white. He stared into Trinity with piercing blue eyes.

“Well, well, well,” the detective said, “I was told by Sergeant Burk that he found a commie. Please, sit!”

Trinity complied, then said in a nervous voice “I… I am not a communist sir.”

“Letseehere,” the detective thumbed along his tablet. “Says here you were caught in a raid of an organisation called Disciples of Jesus… clearly using the lord’s name in vain to spread commie propaganda! You were in the kitchen feeding the street vermin.”

“I was feeding the hungry, sir,” she replied.

“You realise that if you do that…”

“They breed?” Trinity replied, her voice shaking.

“They need to pull themselves up by the bootstraps!” the detective replied, “God helps those whom only help themselves. It's in the Bible!”

“No… no sir, it's not…” Trinity replied.

The detective simply growled. “Look, we also know you were in that kitchen mingling with blacks and illegals,” the detective continued, “even the odd pervert! Did your parents raise you to be like this?”

“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.” Trinity replied, almost automatically, an ease in her voice from the repetition.

“You don’t deny it!” he exclaimed.

“I am doing as Jesus instructs,” Trinity simply said.

“Oh poppycock!” the detective rolled his eyes. “Hanging around niggers, aliens, and faggots?”

“Jesus spent time with tax collectors and prostitutes,” Trinity replied. “How is that bad? To reach the sick, you must be near them.”

A bell chimed. The detective pulled out his tablet and got it onto a video sharing service where it had been tuned to a livestream. The stream’s background, an opulent office of polished cherrywood with the nation’s flag draped by a window. A crucifix made of gold hung over a wooden desk.

Seated at the desk was the president - an out of shape man with thin greying hair in an expensive navy suit a size too small. Said suit adorned in golden cufflinks and brooches. His complexion was a strange orange hue, as if he slathered himself in fake tan.

“Fellow citizens… We are at war…” he started his speech where he talked about how illegals were the cause of poverty and how the gays and trans populations were preying on our children. He bragged about his personal wealth and said it was proof of God’s grace. He ended his speech with “Beware the liberals - they drink the blood of babies and hold blood sacrifices! I have been graced by God, as I have known him, and Jesus, and I have been sent by God to make this nation great again!” He then prayed:

“Our lord father, please make this nation great again! May we be victorious in the war against amorality and degeneracy. May the streets flow with the blood of the illegals and the faggots! May your hard work reward you, and the freeloaders pull themselves up! Our country first!”

“Amen,” the detective nodded, “great man. Pious. Humble.”

“When you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites. For they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by others. Truly, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” Trinity spoke, looking the detective in the eyes.

The detective cocked his head. “His president prays for war,” Trinity said.

“We need to arm ourselves to fight these forces that threaten our nation, and its people,” he said, “the aliens taking our jobs and raping our women, the fags who are grooming our children in the guise of ‘entertainment,’ the liberal cabal lead by the jews to subvert our society and bring Satan into our hearts!”

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God,” Trinity simply said, “If the president was a good Christian, he would know that.”

The detective slapped her. The sting on her cheek reddened from his opened palm. “How dare you! How dare you! He who is making this nation great again!” The detective huffed as he took a look at his case file. “Now, for your activities, you would be looking at ten years in prison. Serious time. However, if you can tell us who else is in the Disciples of Jesus, then the DA will cut you a break - a reduced sentence, perhaps?”

“We’ve done nothing wrong,” Trinity said, her voice shaking again.

“You not only are spreading propaganda, you are also committing heresy!” the detective growled. “If you don’t cooperate, you could have extra charges against you - including death.”

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. On that day, many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness. Mathew twenty-one to twenty-three’,” Trinity recited. “Didn’t the president claim to know God?”

The detective huffed, his shoulders moving as he breathed.

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” Trinity continued., “All nations, not just ours.”

“Well, I guess leaving you in prison for a bit might have you rethink your cooperation.” The detective said, “We have to protect the nation, subverted by foreign food, drugs from the illegals, and anti-Christain propaganda making our young mutilate themselves with piercings and tattoos!”

“Do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” Trinity nodded.

“Quit this blasphemy! You waste time feeding animals when you should be making money… being productive!” The detective got up and banged on the door. The cop from before came in.

“It is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God,” Trinity said as she was lifted from her chair.

“What kind of libtard garbage is this?” the cop asked.

“I’m quoting Jesus,” Trinity replied, “Our lord and saviour!”

The cop punched her. She fell to the ground as the detective kicked her in the gut. Trinity kept talking: “These are things his Lord has said. His words, his commands. I am doing as he asks.”

“As am I,” the detective growled as he gave another kick. “Heretic!”

“Are you… following the words of Jesus… or the… president?” she spoke, coughing blood in the process, “Am I… the heretic… or you?”

The cop picked her up before the detective kicked her again. As his leather shoes hit her in the shin the cop dragged her out. As she was dragged to a van, destined for prison, she turned. “God bless,” she said. “I forgive you. May you find your way into the kingdom of heaven.”

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This story was originally published in Heretic on Sept 30, 2023. Link to anthology on Amazon: https://www.amazon.ca/Heretic-One-Shot-Anthology-Speculative-Fiction/dp/B0CK45BHDK