Stringing Along

You know, I expected it to rain today.

[pause while blogger flips through fanfiction stories entitled Rain.]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"All rise for the return of the Eldest!"

A sedate security guard throws the words into the rumbling courtroom. His crossed arms and crooked face book no argument.

A tiny door drags open and a slightly disgruntled brunette cloaked in a Holocaust robe slips out.

Respect shines in the faces as recognition permeates their consciousness, and a whisper is heard:

"There she is--the Eldest Judge." A plump, matronly woman stares in awe at the young lady.

Her companion, a tallish, well-dressed gentleman quotes quietly,

"There never was so young a body with so old a mind..."

Nods of agreement bob throughout the hushed room.

The security guard motions to those seated in the very front.

"Will the defendant please rise?"

Slowly, laboriously, a rotund grey man in a stained tweed suit rises to his feet. His shadowed features are lined with something akin to depression, or maybe just loneliness. Next to him, his seedy lawyer fiddles nervously with his scarf.

Unimpressed, the security guard asks for the statement, and those assembled expect an out-right expression of guilt--after all, the evidence was clear! the witnesses collaborated perfectly! the People had presented their case in such a way that the Eldest Judge had no choice but to move for a verdict of guilty, and yet...there was no guilt on the clouded face of the defendant.

In fact, there was nothing there. No anxiety, no happiness, no nothing--nothing except for those lonely creases lining his face.

"Not guilty," his thundering voice rolled out, throwing the courtroom into confusion. Then, the Eldest raised her hand--and all was quiet once again.

Sighing, she rubbed her temple and glanced at the morose man in his tweed suit.

And thus, for the first time in her career, the verdict was uncertain. Clouded, even.

Yes, the evidence had implicated the man beyond a shadow of a doubt. Yes, the witnesses had all agreed, and YES! the lawyers had been more convincing than usual.

And yet, here she sat, undecided and even confused.

What was she confused about?

Simple.

His actions, while directly causing death, were not his fault. It was his job. The earth would be crusty and dry if not for him, a fact which the People seemed to have forgotten.

The Eldest sighed again, this time catching the grey man's eyes. There, at last, was some emotion.

Emotion that shivered through the bones and pooled in his eyes; a world-weary sadness. A sadness that had rooted itself in constant reuse, cycle after precipitation cycle. A sadness born of goodbyes, ocean tides, and the soft pull of the moon.

Thoughts flitted through her head; wild thoughts that he had suffered enough, that he needed no more punishment.

The jury had made its decision! But they had not looked in his eyes. The People were waiting for the verdict, had waited for long months of trial. He had not been treated fairly, for no trial was necesarry. The family of those now dead were crying for justice. Justice had already been administered. It was being administered.

The pressure closed down around her ears. Reporters flashed cameras and the eyes of the entire world bored a hole into her mind, waiting for the expected outcome.

And with one word, she sealed the fate of the rotund grey man for ever.

THE END.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Okay. Okay.

BLEH.

...

AUGFGYRUIJKSDKKFFFPPFTT!!!

What do people do when they have no words to describe...anything!

Do they just...wave their arms and some splotches of paint appear as words flit from their hands to the page?

Does a hummingbird twiddle by, pause to take a sip from a strand of hair, and hum along contentedly, while the bearer of the hair sits in silent confusion and exasperation, missing the missing nectar?

Do they ramble on, making no sense whatsoever, and wish for a cup of spoons so they can see a million little reflections?

Sometimes, I wish Mother Earth would yield words as easily as she does rain or sun or even air.

Poor Rain Cloud.

I wonder if he ever posted bail...?

I opened my eyes

And looked up at the rain,

And it dripped in my head

And flowed into my brain,

And all that I hear as I lie in my bed

Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,

I walk very slow,

I can't do a handstand--

I might overflow,

So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--

I'm not the same since there's rain in my head.

--Shel Silverstein