An Ass Raping in Hell

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A short story written by Christian Tanner

There was a man masturbating in the alley across the street. I could only tell by his shadow.

I flew in that morning, landing at LAX. I’ve been tracking a church group for over a month now, hoping to find them all in the same place at the same time, but it never happened. They were always in different places. I was hoping to find them all in the same place so I could blow them to shreds. Really, I mean it. I want to grab all the men by their nuts and pull so hard they sing like fairies. I will grab all the women’s boobs and twist so hard they do cartwheels.

Anyone associated with the church has their name written on my shitlist. I will kill every member starting with that bitch who speaks for the church. Any time the church makes a statement, it’s her stupid fucking face on the TV screen or quoted in the newspaper. I want her to die first, then everyone else until I get to the last man standing ― the pastor.

Let me start at the beginning. It was an early Saturday morning when my wife woke me up to tell me my son was on the computer. Some program called Sky or something allowed me to talk to my son face-to-face while we were thousands of miles apart.

“Hank,” my wife said to me, “Jeremy is online and he wants to talk to you.”

My bones were still creaking while I pulled myself out of bed. “Tell ‘em I’ll be there in just a second. Will you brew up a pot of coffee?”

“Of course, dear. Do you want the decaf again or regular?”

“Regular, Shirley. I feel like it’s going to be one of those days.”

Shirley, my wife, was walking out of the room, whispering under her breath, “Oh, dear lord.”

I put on my slippers and moved into the bathroom. I don’t want to say I walked, because I kind of scooted.

I sat in front of the computer and said, “Hey, Jeremy. How’re you doing out there?”

“I’m good. How are you and mom doing?”

I had let out a subtle grunt, “Oh you know, same old ‘you and mom.’”

Shirley was coming in from behind me then she handed me a cup of Joe and a biscotti, “Thanks, honey. I hope you don’t mind, I want a minute alone here with Jeremy.”

She looked down at the carpet, not because I wanted a minute alone with Jeremy, but because she’s getting more depressed every day Jeremy is gone. Shirley did not say a word; she only shuffled out the door.

I turned back to the computer screen and said, “Look, Jeremy, your mother isn’t doing too well. She needs you home.”

“Dad, you know I’m coming home soon.”

“That’s what you said last year.”

“Well you know when the president was elected, he promised to pull us all out within two years. You know everyone’s deployment changed.”

“That’s going to happen no matter what, Jeremy. You have to understand that it’s up to you when you come back. You need to set a date, and end this for the last time. For your mother. She’s worried sick.”

“It’s not like that. I have a job to do here. Dad, I’ll be home as soon as my job is done.”

“You’re a good man, Jeremy. I raised a troop. A man.”

Jeremy smiled and said to me, “Let me talk to mom.”

That was the last thing I said to my son. I will never know what really happened in Iraq, but I know my son died a hero.

I was not keeping up with the news too much at the time. Growing up, I always watched the news, but I was trying my best to keep my mind clear of all the explosions and gunfire. I had never heard of the group until I went to my son’s funeral. Apparently, everyone knew but me. I did not understand how they had gotten away with what they were doing. Everyone sat idling by, letting them do what they do. However, they fucked with the wrong soldier this time.

I walked out of the church after my son’s funeral was over; I was going to head to the cemetery for his burial, but that was the first time I saw them. I saw her stupid mother fucking face. I had never wanted to kill someone so badly in my entire life. I was going to put a bullet in between her eyes right then and there. She held four signs, two in each hand:

“God hates fags.”

“U.S. soldiers burn in hell.”

“Soldiers die for fag nation.”

“Your sons and daughters are in hell.”

There were about fifteen of them. They all held signs saying the same things. I could not believe what I was seeing. My eyes were bursting with shock. Apparently, this was not the first time they had done what they were doing. Cops lined up on the street making sure nothing happened to them. Another group on the other side of the street held signs that read, “Support our troops,” and “Thank you for your service.”

My heart sank below my lungs and buried itself under my ribs. I had never felt so hurt and betrayed in my entire life. I had to find out who they were.

I researched the group for hours. I watched countless documentaries and read too many news articles that night. I could not believe I had never heard of them before. The things these people have done are disgusting and damaging to so many lives. Each passing minute I could feel my heart growing darker. I think it was around hour three or four when I finally went insane. I rushed up stairs to my room and loaded my Smith & Wesson. I opened my gun case, but I couldn’t decide which weapon I would use to blow their brains out. That’s when I realized I didn’t want them to die quickly and painlessly.

They have kids involved, I cannot blow up their church, as I would like to.

I hopped onto the next flight and that is when I landed at LAX, they were protesting another soldier’s funeral in LA. When I arrived, I saw them all holding their signs and singing their disgusting songs. “Praise the lord,” they sang, “Fag nation is in hell.”

There was another counter-protesting group, much like the one at my son’s funeral, but there were about 30 or 40 of them. I stood in the back of the crowd with my arms crossed while I stared at the enemy. I watched her face. I watched her hands wave. I watched her. I watched her sing. I could not take my eyes off her. I wanted her dead. I put my hand on my gun, ready to pull it out and fire the entire clip into the crowd of churchgoers. I slowly walked through the crowd of counter-protesters, trying to get as close as I can to make sure I shot all of them before the cops fired at me. I unclipped my gun’s holster and prepared my gun to fire. Then, a child walked out from behind one of the churches members.

I got on the next flight home. Back in Nebraska, I took my time doing research of the church. I researched their security and anything else that would get in the way of me completing the task at hand. I took my time. I really did, but it did not take me long before I decide to head to their church in Kansas, where I would join their Sunday morning service.

I drove through the snow as I peered through patches of ice on my windshield to get to the airport as quickly as possible. I got on flight 3030 headed for Kansas. It was Saturday.

I landed in Kansas City and rented a mid-size Toyota from a rental agency located inside the airport. I drove from Kansas City to Topeka, which only takes about an hour down highway 70. I arrived at the church and parked on the street, staring at the church for about ten minutes. My teeth grinded and my head became hot ― I could not contain my anger.

When I drove away, I saw a car pulling into the parking lot, but I did not want to think anything of it because I was afraid I would do something that I would later regret. I drove to a cheap motel and tried my best to sleep.

Sunday morning came quicker than a woman having sex with George Clooney. I hoped in the car and took off toward the church. I parked as far away from the church as I could, as long as I could see the church. I watched cars pull into the parking lot for about a half hour. I knew their service had started because activity outside the church diminished. I waited another good half hour before I made a move.

I drove to the side of the church, got out and walked to the glass doors. I thought the doors would be locked, but I did not know for sure until I tried to open them myself. To my best luck, they were open. I was standing inside the church. The air was heavy. It felt as if the air had punched me in the gut as I walked inside. My stomach began turning on me. I felt sick. I saw big wooden doors to my left and I assumed that was where they were having their service. I only had a knife with me, but that’s all I needed. They would all scatter like rats when they saw me and I was going to kill as many as I could. However, when I opened one of the big heavy wooden doors, I saw more than I asked for.

Everyone was wearing black silk cloaks and they were humming in harmony. It was loud. There had to have been 200 candles lit all over the sanctuary. Most everyone bent down on one knee, while one man stood at the podium. They were huddled around someone lying on the floor. It only took a second before one of them turned around, getting a good look at me. When they turned around, I could see there was a child lying on the floor with tape around her mouth. I could tell she had been crying for hours. I had no choice but to pull out my cell phone and take pictures as quickly as I could. The man at the podium nonchalantly said, “Get ‘em.”

I dialed 9-1-1 as quickly as the men and women in black cloaks raced after me. Apparently, there is always a squad car near the church.  Before I got to my rental car, a cop raced in to witness 9 or 10 men and women in black cloaks chasing after me. The woman, the same woman who was at my son’s funeral, was holding a dagger to a little girl’s throat, threatening to kill her if the cop did not leave the church. All the men and women in black cloaks fell to the ground. The officer held his gun aimed at the woman.

“Drop your gun!” the woman yelled again, “You’re on the Lord’s property and you’re interfering with the Lord’s work. If you do not leave within the next 3o seconds, I will do what God wants me to do and I will kill this girl right in front of you.”

“Don’t!” The officer yelled back, “Let the girl go and we can end this right now.”

The woman laughed and said, “Oh, we’re going to end this right now all right.”

“Look, if you kill that girl, I will be forced to shoot you. I don’t want to do that, but I will.”

“God won’t allow for your materialistic bullets to penetrate through the flesh of his servants.”

“Like hell he would! Put down your weapon!”

I watched from behind the rental car. A member of the church in a black cloak slowly lifted himself from the black tar parking lot.

The officer yelled, “Get on the ground,” but he did not listen. The officer pumped two rounds into him. I watched the dagger go in one side of the little girl’s neck and poke out of the other. The little girl must have died instantly. Three more cars raced into the parking lot as the cop fired five rounds into the woman.

Local journalists were on the scene as quickly as the police were. I am sure they listen to police scanners all day, hoping for an opportunity to exploit the church. They filmed each member being arrested and put in the back of squad cars. Each one of them came out of the church in handcuffs and with their heads down. Nevertheless, the pastor was last but he held his head high, ranting and raving about how they were innocent. What a glorious sight. I hope every homophobic churchgoer gets an opportunity to understand what homophobic really means. Nothing puts me at ease more than knowing their going to be ass raped every way until judgment day ― then they are going to hell.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters or locations are entirely coincidental.

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6 thoughts on “An Ass Raping in Hell

  1. Even though the actual people who protest like this aren’t likely a part of a sadistic cult, they might as well be. I like how you showed their evil intentions through that metaphor. Cool story.

  2. This was awful, enraging, shocking – and I could not stop reading. You did an incredible job of communicating the absolute despair and skittering thoughts of the main character. The subject matter is horrible (well, those people are, I’ve heard of them). What a story.

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