Page 9 of Sins and Virtue

This fucking— no Blair. Remember Matthew 5:39.

“But I say to you, do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”

No matter how “perfect” and “saintly” some people tried to be, they would just end up acting like the same sobby assholes found at the side of the New York City streets. No matter what they spew, people like her are more broken and full of hate than any person in this prison.

Sinners are condemned not only by their actions but also by their hearts.

That was one undisputed fact that couldn’t be changed.

A loud buzzer sound made me jump as the large steel security gate in front of us opened, a correctional officer waiting on the other side. “Hello sisters, please right this way.” He signaled his hand forward, leading into the long hall where we passed the warden’s office, which appeared empty at the moment, before he allowed us to enter the first floor.

Hundreds of predatory and repulsing stares fell rough against my black ankle-length dress. Underneath it I wore nothing more than a white long-sleeve shirt and my lacy underwear. My hair was partially covered with a black veil, revealing my brunettefringe— the only reason I got away with it because I was still in training, or else I would have been punished. Top it all off with a two-inch gothic black heel.

Hating in this moment to be blessed with a curvaceous shape that always got me too much attention. My ass unintentionally swayed side to side.

Passing through the passageway, men started howling, whistling, and catcalling— yelling all sorts of vulgar and crude things at me. Some even pounded against the railing to catch my attention— as if— I had better standards than to be with some prisoner.

The old Blair would have said “fuck you” and flaunted the ass they couldn’t have.

But now I was reforming myself, although it would take me a lot, and I mean a lot of time—maybe my whole fucking lifetime— to not want to do that. Instead, praying for them would be better.

“Pay them no mind.” She clicked her teeth. “Lust contaminates their hearts; therefore, they are too blinded to accept the Lord's ways.”

Not sure if that was a hundred percent true. I didn’t fight back.

Saying nothing, I only inclined my head to further control my emotions.

Instead, choose to observe the structure of the building. It was a three-story premise with gray cemented floors, white moldy ceilings, and prison cells lining up the entire floor. The infirmary is on the second floor, and the library is on the third floor. More cells stacked on top of one another as the levels went up. It all looked so mundane— lifeless— without a signal of hope in sight.

Rough tension built in my throat, making me feel nauseous.

It was like the light at the end of the tunnel was dissipating.

We reached the end of the hall, where there was a long, swirly metallic staircase that led to the upstairs floors.

“Come on then, let’s go to the third floor.” Sister Francis said, already starting her jog up like some Olympic athlete in her Nike sneakers.

“Um, why? Shouldn’t we start with the ones down here?” I asked curiously.

She shook her head dismissively. “Like I said, child, the sinners down here are already lost. There is no use in wasting time. The third floor has the calmest inmates, although they are the deadliest prisoners. They’re much more sophisticated and comprehensive and are willing to listen and pay heed. It’s better to go where we can actually make a change.”

Well, that’s not very nun-like.

What about all the talks of compassion, loving God, and others as they are? Where was that in this feeble woman’s heart?

If she has one.

Within the faith itself, there were so many people full of dichotomies that I didn’t even know how they considered themselves true believers. There was wrong, and there was right. There was black and white, but it wasn’t just that. The world was filled with intermixing grays that made us perfectly imperfect.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Blair. Let’s go.” She snapped her fingers again.

Having no other choice but to follow right behind her, I began my ascent up the stairs. About ten minutes after a thousand steps, we arrived on the third floor. My calves were on fire, my head was light, and sweat broke out against the temple of my head while I heaved heavily. Meanwhile, Sister Francis was unfazed as she checked her watch, and the corner of her lips lifted. Like she had accomplished her mandatory ten thousand steps a day.

“H-how—how d-o you—” I wheezed, trying to ask her how she had the energy to do that.

“Oh child, you’ll get used to it. By the time you’re my age, it’ll be like clockwork.” She then clapped her hands methodically. “Now, now then, let’s get to work. Salvation won’t wait forever.”

By the looks of it and at the rate she was going, she would meet the Lord soon enough. If she didn’t kill me first with these mandated exercises.