Why Are You So Interested in These Rights?

This is another excerpt from my in-progress fiction manuscript, As Crows and John-Crows Fly. The main character, D, has just returned Up North from Down South, and her discomfort with fundamental religion is sparked by an act of violence. This is a creative piece and all characters are fictional and not based upon any real persons, living or dead. Likewise, the regions Up North and Down South do not represent any specific countries or areas. However, the manuscript and its main character question how gay and transgender rights seem to be so threatened by certain faiths.


snow_cabinAfter several weeks back home, D sat just outside her town in a new café looking at the green ski slopes which would be white in three months’ time, skiers and snowmobilers in their winter-found glory and she headed down South again to do whatever it was she was doing Down South. His story and life were planted in her mind again like something that wouldn’t go away. Like the seasons. A deep sickening pain and the desire to scratch and wash something away overcame her. His story. Darrell Morriss. She googled the minority-insight blog she had googled the day after it had happened and read the words again: “On June 16, Darrell Morriss, a transgender youth, otherwise known as Dynamite, was stabbed to death outside his church in Bay Town. After a service where the preacher delivered a sermon about the sins of homosexuality, three men from the congregation grabbed Darrell and dragged him out behind the church. They waited until most of the congregation had dispersed and gone home. The men then forced Darrell onto the church’s front steps where he was beaten and killed. Several remaining church members looked on and did not interfere. Darrell’s body was then dumped in the bushes along the main road.” The words made her skin tear. “Did not interfere.” D was unable to eat for days when she first heard. And those words stood out. “Did not interfere.” She remembered her friend Kate’s words as she stood in her kitchen, that topic and story somehow raised, D repeating “this is awful, just horrible” and scratching and feeling hives that rippled her skin like something she might have picked up in the country. She could still feel Kate’s response, her voice sharp, eyes piercing, “but he went against God’s law. It’s just not right.” She remembered how much she had scratched and looked down at the floor, her friend’s next question hateful and discerning, both of them knowing deception was being killed. “And just why are you so interested in what you call these rights?”