Judge and Execution

The murky and damp courtroom is big enough to seat four, the judge rustles his gown awaiting for the plaintive to began, her lawyer is a polished rationalist in a suit and tie, slick back hair, and pacing confidently in front of the podium. She is teary-eyed, doubt rings on her primrose cheeks, as her brown eyes scan the nothingness in the air. "She was left alone your honor," the lawyer begins, manically raising his hand at the empty seat where the guilty party is suppose to reside, "She wept and lamented in his arms on their final day and was heart broken to the brink of insanity, and he did nothing to help her," she starts to cry as the memory attacks her, forcing her to cringe, "And then, after a month of being separated, he has the gall to attempt to get back with her," the lawyers voice rings through the barren courtroom stirring the judge, "Why, all of a sudden does he state he loves her, I will tell you why, it's because he is alone, afraid, and affected by the sudden change in his life, not really caring for my clients sympathies," the judge nods his head as the lawyer offers him documents, "If you would kindly read these notes, here it clearly states my clients constant attempts at yielding a response from him telling him she loved him, which he neglected to respond to till they parted ways," she wipes away the tears as the heat from the room builds like a bonfire, her skin starts to harden, "If you look at the next page you can see that he wasn't the best boyfriend, when they were together, constantly making her do things, arguing with her, putting her down, poking fun at the things she did, he has nothing to say to himself, obviously, since he is not present," she shakes her head at the thoughts, they must be true she says, they must be, if he loved me, he would have been there, suddenly a loud banging from the wooden doors in the back, he busts through as the judge brings down his gavel like a snare, he is out of breath and crying, "What is going on!?" he shouts, spotting his love who stunned but not flinching, "Your honor I would like to strike anything he says from the record," the lawyer quickly fumbles, "Bullshit! How can you talk about us without me here? Shouldn't I get a say? Shouldn't you hear my side?" he states in a gasp, "Your side is meaningless, the only important matter at hand is to relieve my client of the pain you caused her," the judge again nods absently, she is fiddling with her finger, glancing down, not able to look at him, "I didn't mean to do that, it...it was just what happened, I needed time to know, to really know how I felt, is that wrong, is that wrong!?" he attempts to speak to her directly but the lawyer shrouds him, guards him from her, "Not knowing makes us question whether what you say is true or not, since if you did love her you would have stood with her, been with her, done all you can to not let her go, but you left her alone, in pain, dwelling by herself thinking about you everyday," he staggers, but gets his footing once again, "What do you think I have been going through, it isn't as though this has been easy for me, I'm in a new world, new place, with new people, I didn't know if I would be able to commit to her, to you, I had to be sure, I had to stop thinking with my mind and listen to my heart, you have to believe me," he keeps trying to speak around the lawyer, but the lawyer is to encompassing, he can't speak to her directly, "With your heart! My client has been speaking with only that for so long, she is now fed up, she is done, she doesn't believe a word of this dribble, it's all over, you have to move on," he falls again to his knees, weakly, his stomach churns and aches, a deep pang is felt, he is exhausted, he grabs on to a nearby table for support, "See your honor, he isn't able to stand the truth, my client is through, she has tried and tried to be with him, love him, cherish him, and all he has done is spit in her face, she deserves--" he punches the lawyer, knocking him out of the way, running to her, holding her hand, her eyes are sharp but staring away from him, "I love you, I do, and I want to be with you, that is the honest truth, all the things that have happened to us will only make us stronger, yeah we had our troubles, but so does everyone, can't you look passed that? I remember the last time we spoke you said you loved me, we listened to each other breathe, wasn't that real? I know you still love me, but were hurt by what I did, more than I can imagine, and I'm sorry, that is all I can say, I'm sorry, you wanted to be with me before, so I don't know what changed, please, tell me, what changed, what has happened, I will do everything, anything to be with you, just let me in," he ululates but his words have met a brick wall, not chipping it, she is stone-faced, nothing but hate is seen in her reflection, "You are only looking at the good things, you are living in the past, you are alone and scared, you don't really love me, you love the idea of me," she spouts still not giving him her eyes, her words cut him, "What were the bad? Where you not happy!?Tell me, so I know. I'm not in love with an idea, I'm in love with you and only you, you for who you are, not who you were, what can I say to prove that to you? Look at me" she keeps her eyes on the lawyer as if speaking with his mouth, "All this is just fantasy, you didn't treat me right, we had so many deeper issues that grew and grew, nothing but resentment," "I don't resent you and never have, and all these issues are unknown to me, what are they, what?" he keeps trying to glance into her eyes, but they are not hers anymore, she has been beguiled, too many jackals whispering in her ears, he sees that she has morphed into them, into those cold emotionless beings that soothe the pain, "You creep me out, you have to move on," she burns, still not peering at him, he is stunted, taken-back, halted in his tracks, his mouth gaped like a bass, two officers grab him by the arms and carry him away forcefully, the lawyer smiles cynically, brushing his hair back, she doesn't offer him one last look, shuttering, gazing down at the immense nothingness at her feet.

P.S.

The blue line jaunts westward in the solemn indigo night, jittery, with a few others with bags bundled at their feet. My luggage swells onto the main lane, wrapped tightly by my legs, the other two bags, one your borrowed me, huddled into my arms, warmly. You stare at nothing, head bobbing with the movements on the tracks, jiggling left and right, hair swooping like a wave. Light’s flash in and out from the widows, pale, as if ascending into the stars. It’s late, but you came anyway, to see my off. My mind is fuddled with thoughts and notions and lingering concepts that sound radical and unreal. I happen a joke or two, just to see that smile; it will be awhile till I see it again. Will we be just friends? Oceans apart in feelings due to the vast distance gapping us as we speak? I massage your palm with my thumb, fighting off a shudder. I will wait till I return to make that decision. You lean your head exhaustingly on my shoulder, but I feel cold. It’s chilly today.

We creep through the long corridors of O’Hare, seeking that plane that will see me off. The building is huge, teetering off in all direction, ad’s and billboards offering welcoming deals, and arrows trying to guide the way. We are lost in the soundscape of a lover’s ballad that has reached its third movement, suiting its autumn, with the leaves sifting colors, discordant deep flats perpetuate grimly in the atmosphere. You carry a few bags, I can see in your eyes, you have some pang you are trying to fight off, I offer nonchalantly a quib or two, but that doesn’t help. What can you see in my eyes? I hope it is the twinkle in my soul. I hope you realize I still love you. Few words are murmured between us, not waiting to give recognition of this moment. You find the right way, guiding me with your smile, not mentioning the lingering doubts you have about yourself or us. Other strangers litter the airport, some alone, some with family, or friends, as long as you are with someone. I glance at you, that primrose face grinding to stay hidden. Your incredulous smirk and shrug speaks volumes. I lug forward, heartfelt, hurried, tired-eyed, with Chicago glittering at a last hooray.

I capture you with a camera, capture us, but it’s fleeting. The people ascend in mass towards the security check-in, countless nobodies all going to a distant place, I wonder who they are leaving behind? We are forced in abnegation, subjected to the pain cringing in our souls at the comfort we will miss. Our loved one’s raise their hand one last time, defined by the other crowds doing the same, to me, to all, all those wanderers boarding life and pursuing it for that adventure, that new, that enlightenment that comes with being far. Isn’t it strange that something that gives us such great pleasure can also yield great pain? My arms engulf you, locked, protruding warmth, and love, and care, and horror, and fear, and longing, and absolute desire. You tightly bind my waist like a mountain climber grasping a rope for dear life. I try to block it, but rivers burst onto your curly locks, supplying it with the vitality for growth, your growth. My chest soaks up the water spewing from you, quenching my heart. I am focused on nothing but your presence, that feeling of completion as you wedge into my lower-half like a jigsaw piece. A stasis folds onto us, we live in that moment, and never leave. We whisper our last words. What were they? Our lips touch like virgins. My body turns unwillingly, legs push forward, this is it, I turn once and see you, rubbing beneath those cinnamon pearls, raising a hand, I tread more, glance back, your effaced by convivial terminal, and I stutter, stone-faced, immovable, lingering there...I am still waiting for you.

Aftermath

I want to do a detective type of tale soon, so here is my first attempt.

It’s midnight. The staggering moist summer air creeps in through the broken window as he stares below. No sign of forced entry, he thinks as he bends down over the corpse—the window was broken from the inside, probably from the struggle. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and rubs his blue eyes—a few tears fall through his fingers. Some police officers scour the small one-bedroom apartment, poking through drawers, shuffling through photos, moving precious objects, and dusting the remnants of the naked body. He has only been in the city for two weeks and he already has a serial killer on his hands.
“What do you think, Turner?” a policeman asks silently,
“How’d you find her?”
“Neighbor called in a disturbance.”
“And this is what you guys saw?”
“Yep, she was lying here dead, fucking crazy right?” The lieutenant takes off his cap and shakes his head, wiping his forehead gently, then continues, “So what do you think?”
“I think it is going to be a long night…”
Turner peeks into her light brown eyes, they stare up as though in awe of what happened, she must have gotten a glimpse of him before he did her in, he thinks. Her blonde hair is sprawled out on the wooden floor by each strand, her pale body is exposed with a jagged cut across her throat and under her breasts—blood drips sullenly down, her thick red lips are still vibrant, with a few freckles over her cheeks and a bruise on her left jaw that has molded purple with a few green marks around it. I must have just missed him, he thinks. He reaches over and pulls her eyelids down with his fingers gently, covering his mouth as he does.
“Did you know her?” The lieutenant asks.
He journeys his eyes around the room. He notices her red dress is thrown on the floor, the crease that exposed her breasts, the two thin strands that revealed her naked shoulders, and the soft silk of the bottom hiding her sensuous legs. Her large brown bag is hung on a chair near her bed. Her bed is ruffled, the soft white sheets torn off by force or through a struggle and her crimson pillows are muffled by slight black spots—he attacked her while she slept, he thinks. Her pink silk gown is cut down the middle and placed at arm’s reach from her body; he feels a warming sensation as he touches it. He rises and turns away towards the broken window, the city is hazy, and a few streetlights glimmer from the road. The buildings are black, rusted, and are blinded by shades pushed far down. The police lights cycle below casually. He pulls out a pack of smokes and lights one. His hand shivers and he takes a deep breathe.
“Turner, did you know her?” The lieutenant reiterates nervously.
The only sound he hears is a motor in the distance. The trees rasp against the window. He must have knocked her out with chloroform, which explains her stunned state, after he raped her, he then proceeded to cut her body apart—he is almost unable to continue his thought. He adjusts his gun holster, his finger itch for a chance to pull the trigger on this monster. His lips quiver, but not wanting to show remorse. He was supposed to stay the night, but was held up. He covers his eyes and digs his fingers into the side of his head.
“Yeah, I knew her…”
“A Are you going to be alright?”
“After I catch this bastard I will be.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to follow his trail.”
“What trail?”
“On the desk he left a thumb mark, probably due to the struggle on the bed; which led to the ground before she was knocked out. It wasn’t till then before he ravaged the body with his knife and probably pleasured himself before he left. I noticed, under her finger nails, some fragments of blood, hopefully it is his. He seems to target blondes, in single apartments, and who work in banks—due to the previous two murders. I wasn’t sure if those were accurate assumptions until this case. There are bite marks on the body around the neck, and some blood on the window seal—he might have been thrown into it as she tried to fight him off; which might offer some insight into who he is.”
The lieutenant shakes his head with bewilderment in his eyes. He takes off his cap and rubs his head. The other officers begin to leave the room as a corner comes in to bag the body.
“Well, looks like you got more than we did. Do you need any help?”
“No, I will only be a few minutes more…”
“Alright, man. Sorry bout’ the broad.”
He reaches out his arm to place on his shoulder, but stops halfway and leaves. Turner finishes his cigarette as the body is zipped up. He turns around and sees the apartment as though it were a ghost town. Emptied, ravaged, and torn apart. He slowly walks out; his head is low as he closes the door behind him.