Vanity. Ares

masquerade. I looked and saw the animator
positioned to the left and examined his face out
of curiosity to notice that his white hair and black
beard looked ordinary and his face expression
similar, as if his only mission was to be the Artist
he was, not form expressions. Injustice seeped
within every iota of my being. The animator
added a few extra strokes to the drawings he had
made, before he put his pencil down on the
canvas and smiled at the clerk. The trial was
adjourned until the next day as Connor told me
that Jury could not come to a decision in time
and needed a night.
I was then escorted out of the court room
before I heard Connor a few steps behind me say
to his journalist friend: “Tone, when you get
some time can you please shut-up?” “It was a
tough inning’s today,” said the journalist.
"Another day, another story. Apparently the next
case is one involving a prostitute and crooked
police officers." I distinctly remember this
exchange invoking feelings that I could not afford
laughter and that it was an expensive tender I
could ill afford, as I was escorted to the van and
then back to my room; four walls, noises from
above (not God). On my arrival back to my prison
cell it felt like it was caving in, more and more,
not physically but mentally; as a memory of a
glimpse of the bird I saw on my way out of the
dimly lit Van came rushing back to me, and its
enviable freedom completely juxtaposed where I
stood. I was never a fan of birds though. My
stomach, at that point, felt just like my mind:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
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