Pearls and Manners - Part 4

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The Mayor of Bovina’s wife, Madam Shirley, walked up to the podium.

The Mayor never attended the Wakening. He claimed his presence there “didn’t look good,” though the town believed otherwise. Madam Shirley, married to him for ten years, was the image of a perfect Southern woman, God-fearing, pearl-wearing, immaculately mannered. Her auburn, straightened hair brushed her shoulders. She always wore heels. Today, her soft pink skirt suit complemented her beige skin flawlessly.

Yet no matter how polished she appeared, there was always a faint confusion in her expression, as if God were whispering something in her ear that she could never quite understand.

“Good afternoon, everyone! Ain’t it such a beautiful day? The sun is shining, and the Lord’s blessings are shining even brighter. Am I right?”

The audience nodded and murmured praise.

“Today, we welcome new tithes who have sinned. We all fall short in the eyes of the Lord, but we would not be doing His work if we failed to punish those who consistently disobey Him. Stand with me as we recite the Ten Commandments.”

Mia’s chest tightened as the crowd rose. She knew if she remained seated, her eyes would turn. She stood, mouthing words she barely heard as Madam Shirley began.

“And the Lord said - ”

The audience echoed her.

“I am the Lord thy God.

Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

Thou shalt not make graven images.

Thou shalt not take my name in vain.

Remember the Sabbath day.

Honor thy father and thy mother.

Thou shalt not kill.

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

Thou shalt not steal.

Thou shalt not bear false witness.

Thou shalt not covet.

These are my commandments.

May you obey them always. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

The crowd sat. Madam Shirley lifted her hand, signaling the Wakers to bring the tithes forward.

“Ephesians 5:23 reminds us that the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ is the head of the church. The Wakening exists to hold our men to God’s standard. Amen? These are the ones who have lost their way.”

As she began reading names, the Wakers stripped the men bare and guided them onto the stage.

“Julius Stanley. Corey Johnson. Derrick Turner. Gabriel Scott—”

A woman screamed, “God, no!” Her sobbing shattered the air.

Outbursts were forbidden at the Wakening. The crowd turned on her instantly, faces tight with judgment. Mia glanced over and saw the woman clutching a crying little boy to her leg. Mia had never seen her before, but the child looked painfully familiar, with sharp cheekbones, dark features, and hazel eyes she knew too well. He looked the exact same way he did in the photo she found.

Tears slid down Mia’s face before she could stop them.

Gabriel stepped onto the stage with the others, their heads bowed. He lifted his eyes briefly, meeting the crowd, and felt the same thing every man had felt since being forced into the truck: shame. There was no hiding now.

Once the names were called, the Wakers lowered the men into wooden tubs and locked their wrists into the iron cuffs bolted to the sides. Water was poured in slowly as Madam Shirley continued.

“First Peter reminds us: Do not be surprised by the suffering that tests you, as though something strange were happening to you. Rejoice, for you share in Christ’s suffering. Let us spread the love of God upon them.”

Honey was smeared across the men’s faces. The tape was ripped from their mouths.

Gabriel wanted to scream, to curse, to show even a sliver of resistance. But he stayed still. He knew it would only make things worse.

“These men will suffer as Christ did for two weeks,” Madam Shirley said warmly. “We are grateful for second chances. Let us close in prayer.”

Mia did not pray. She didn’t want God to look over him. She wanted no mercy. No escape.

When the prayer ended, the crowd dispersed quickly. The sun dipped low, staining the sky orange. No one lingered, except Mia.

It didn’t take long.

Mosquitoes and flies swarmed first, drawn by the honey. Then came wasps and yellow flies, their buzzing thick and relentless. The men screamed as insects crawled into their ears, their mouths, and burrowed into skin made slick and vulnerable. The sound was unbearable, raw, animal, hopeless.

Mia watched without blinking.

As darkness swallowed the stage, she lost sight of them, but not their voices. She listened carefully, isolating Gabriel’s screams from the others. When she finally heard the desperation in his voice, hoarse, cracked, pleading, she smiled and decided to stay until his screams no longer sounded like prayer.

The tea in her cup was still warm.

The End.