Sanguine and glib, green light; artificial ethereal bordering on the bored intense – this is the justice system.
I quietly observe while clowns in gowns spew red tape from their gaping mouthes with no sense for the irony binding them to a dead God long cremated – He will have His Vengeance though, in the liquid form of a melted globe.
Others around me are tense. The chicken lottery is rolled – whose number will be pulled? Will I be selected to pass judgement? Will the random fingering of formula find me as a mate and set in motion a landscape of ideals and idealogues? Who is this poor creature perched like a broken parrot on the shoulder of some wizened pirate fiercely staring at a treasure map?
The silence is opaque; a dense substance heavy with the ghosts of those condemned throughout the years. The gravity of decision – precision passion pent like lightning – Nobody gives a flying fuck except for this poor schmuck…
He sighs heavily every so often, and the loneliness in it disturbs us all. My eyes shift to him, rape him of his inner dialogue – that breath would expel the demon he cages, but he bites it shut; perhaps he is not quite done with it yet.
The panel is picked; I am not called. I feel offended.
Once outside, electric excitement resumes its thronging throb. Life continues as normal, and nobody here could care less about the fellow in the over-sized suit who breathed heavily; everyone is too busy thinking about whether or not they’ll be picked for the next trial.