Vanity. Ares

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years before; the masquerade that I saw life as,
was simmering and attempting to overfloweth
within my cup. I mused that life really was about
finding good pockets to act out a good show; in
that one gets a good job, which they'll internally
hate, have a kid or maybe two, and on the outside
it seems great, but the show really has many
scenes in which the participators or actors
involved hate. A sort of fakery that becomes the
status quo; The Masquerade. Whilst I stared at the
wall on the right side of my cell opposite my bed,
because it was my favourite wall as it had grey
cracks on it, (reminding me of Claire's bedroom) I
concluded that day that the show must go on and
life must continue whether I liked it or not, which
gave me a feeling in my stomach and turned the
sky a cruel unnoticeable colour that would never
relent — On rushed life, the trial, the sun rising
and setting. The sun never rained; Monotony
prevails in prison. Hopes persist.
Chapter 3 - Trial, Perdition & Mayonnaise
After the knock, I was told that it would be
thirty minutes until I would be escorted to the
court to begin my trial. Whom that knocked was
the officer that felt I slighted him in the whole
wink fiasco — Faustun had told me his name was
Coctau. I said ok, and I got back to doing what I
was usually doing, nothing. The time elapsed and
Coctau and another black officer — that was
particularly jolly — escorted me out of my prison
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