Love.

Lights.

Camera.

Exhale.

The metal whip dragged noisily across the tiled floor, hitting once or twice the boots of the man who carried it. His leather boots were of the finest material, and so were the pants above them. His shirt was the only odd thing on his body: it was more of a piece of rag compared to what adorned the lower part of his form.

The footsteps and the creaking came to a stop at the shivering figure of the boy on the make-shift cross.

“Start.”

It was barely a whisper,” I. I. don’t know the whole thing.”

“Start.”

Exhale.

“Though I speak with the tounges of men and of angels, and have not love, I have become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.”

Crack! The whip was lazily dragged off his body, taking skin with it. Tears and blood pooled around the boy.

“And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith so that I could remove mountains and have no love, I am nothing.”

Crack! Crack! The boy did not scream, or shout. He only wept, and bled. The pool of tears and blood grew bigger around him.

“And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor and though I give my body to be burned, and even love, it profits me nothing.”

Nothing.

The whip paused mid-air and came down very slowly. The man squatted to meet the boy’s face and stared hard at him. He scratched his beards and for a moment his face seemed to soften.

“Is that the end?” Icy.

The boy sobbed, “Love suffers not, love is kind, love envies not, love vaunted not itself, love is not puffed up.”

Crack!

The reciting and the whipping continued in quick succession, no screams, just tears. Tears and blood.

“Love never fails, but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail, whether there be tounges, they shall cease, whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.”

The only sounds now were the man’s heavy grunting, the sound of the whip connecting with the boy’s body, and the boy’s steady, shaky voice.

Tears. Blood.

“And now abides faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of this is love.”

“Aargh!”

When the whip landed for the last time, the boy did not speak. The man squatted again and stared with hardened eyes at the lifeless form. He closed the eyes and stood.

He began the return walk down, with the whip dragging noisily behind him, and leaving jagged trails of blood beneath the noise.