Noah is wracked with anxiety. He cannot stop shivering. 2 years, this has dragged on, and it all comes down to this. It feels unfair, but his lawyer told him this was a good deal. He already signed the papers, now it’s just a matter of waiting for the judge to add his signature. A year in prison. That seems like a long time, when he knows he didn’t do what they say he did. How can he be going to prison? That’s where bad people, criminals go. He isn’t a criminal, is he? Is he??
The lawyer is hungry. He should have grabbed lunch on his way to the courthouse, but he was already running late. This would be a quick appearance, he can get lunch in 20 minutes, half an hour tops. He can wait that long. He steps off the elevator on the 4th floor. He feels bad for the kid he is representing this time. It’s a raw deal. He has more than enough experience to make sure the kid never knows that he thinks that. This kid can’t afford to pay for a trial. He could almost definitely win, but trials are a lot of work, and cost money. No, better this way. He got the kid the best deal the kid could afford. At least he did that much. That Public Defender. Can you believe that that Public Defender was advising this kid to plea out for 5 years, and two felonies? For what, being in the wrong place at the wrong time? The elevator dings as the doors open. It’s time to go coach this kid through the last bit of this, then he can go get lunch. He is in the mood for steak. Or maybe a burger. He is also ready to move on to cases for people who can actually afford to mount a real defense. He briefly muses about how few of those there seem to be lately, and wonders if the DA is being extra selective in the cases he chooses to pursue. But no, everyone knows low income neighbourhoods breed criminals, that’s why so many of the defendants were dirt poor. And really, this kid was wearing an apron for a dinky little coffee shop when he was arrested. Everyone knows all those “baristas” smoke weed. Is it so hard to believe this kid was using other stuff? Not that he could blame the “baristas”. If that was all the future he had had at that age? He probably would have too.
Two years earlier:
The Police Chief was tired. He was busy, and his friend the DA was pressuring him so hard for winnable cases. “I’m campaigning on ‘Tough on ALL crime'” the DA had said the other night when they were out for drinks together. I don’t care if they aren’t big, just bring me some cases I can win. Surely your cops know some neighbourhoods that they can patrol a little more frequently, where they can turn up some good defendants.” He didn’t want to let the DA down, but this thing of always looking for the people that he could get in trouble took a toll on him over time. But, he definitely did not want to risk not being invited to BBQs with the DA, and the Mayor. So, he had signed off on 3 of his patrolmen driving unmarked cars, instead of their normal cruisers, and assigned them to the low income residential areas. Everyone said there were drug deals happening in there, maybe in unmarked cars, his cops would see them. So it was no surprise when less than a week later an officer brought in a kid for a possessions charge. It turned out the kid didn’t have anything on him, or in his system, but the cop swore he saw the kid throw something, and they had found a baggie there. There wasn’t enough residue to get a good test, but he guessed that didn’t matter much. The DA would never have to prove this one in court, the kid would definitely plead out sooner than later.
The cop was ecstatic. His first collar! He was tired of working patrol, he wanted to jump to detective. Maybe this collar would be his break. He just hoped they would buy his story of why his dashcam didn’t catch the throw he was claiming he saw the kid do. He knew it probably wasn’t “right”, but he wanted to fit in at the precinct so badly, and the Chief had just said the other day that we needed more arrests. And anyway, even if the kid didn’t do this, he clearly wasn’t someone the cop would ever want his daughter to hang out with, so it was better for everyone if this kid went to jail for awhile. Anyway, everyone said this was how you move up to detective.
Back in the Courtroom:
The DA is bored. This next case, this one was too easy. He was actually glad that the Private attorney stepped in; it made it at least a little bit challenging. This kid had no idea, and the public defender he had been assigned? That public defender may as well work for the prosecutors office, with how easily he had rolled over. The DA almost got a huge win. If only that private attorney hadn’t stepped in at the 11th hour, this kid would be going away for a lot longer. Oh well, a conviction is a conviction. How long they are in prison doesn’t really matter, that is just a tool to help make the plea out, so he doesn’t have to prove anything in court. It’s a good thing he leaned on this kid so hard, because that private attorney did a pretty good job. He got a lot of the stuff the DA was using for leverage thrown out. The DA always knew that was a possibility. Evidence isn’t about proving someTHING, it’s about scaring someONE. And the evidence he pretended to have this time did the job swimmingly. There is no chance the judge will throw out this deal. He glances over at his intern. He decided to let them tag along on this, since they are the one who reviewed this case first, almost 2 years ago now. He smiles. That intern has come so far.
The intern is excited. Her first conviction! Well, not “hers”, exactly. But the first case that she recommended to the DA, that lead to a conviction. She almost didn’t. The kid is only a a year older than her, and this case wasn’t terribly strong. He really might not have had anything to do with this, just happened to be nearby. But when she looked over his background check, she remembered what the ADA told her the day she started: “The police bring us the cases. We decide if we can win them. The police wouldn’t bring them to us if the person didn’t do something.” That had bothered her, at first. She thought they were supposed to be the ones who decided if someone did something worth prosecting. Pursuit of justice and all that. But over time she had realized, her job was to help the DA maintain his conviction rate. If she wanted to move up, and she definitely did, then this was how the system worked. Besides, the police are out there every day, they probably see all kinds of stuff they can’t fix, so if they brought the case to the DA’s office, it’s because they had a good reason. So, after she looked at the background check, and saw that there was almost no way this kid could afford private representation, she had marked the case “highly winnable” and put it on her mentor’s desk. She had never expected the DA to take this case personally, but then again, elections were coming up, and the DA wanted to campaign on “Tough on ALL crime”, so he had to take some low profile cases if he wanted that to ring true. And here she was, about to witness her first case that went to conviction. Besides, since the DA took this case himself, she got to work side by side with him. He knew her name. He had told her that he never learned the interns’ names, because most of them couldn’t cut it as prosecutors.
“All rise” the bailiff gravely announces.
“Sit down, sit down” the Judge said. “Let’s get through this. Who’s up first?”
“Commonwealth V Noah Tresidder” says the DA. “The Commonwealth has reached a plea agreement, the defendant is present and represented by counsel.”
“Terms of the agreement?” asked the Judge.
“1 year incarceration, 2 years house arrest, and the balance of 6 years served on probation” says the DA.
“Mr Tresidder,” says the Judge. “You understand that you are pleading guilty to these charges?. You understand what the Prosecution would have to prove to convict you of these charges, if you were to go to trial? You understand that by pleading guilty to these charges, you are admitting under oath that you did this, and you are waiving your right to a trial by jury, as well as your right to appeal?”
Noah looks at his lawyer, one last time. This is it. He is about to lie, under oath, and say that he did something that he never did, in order to avoid a much harsher sentence for something that he never did. Everything in him is fighting. This is WRONG, THIS IS WRONG. His lawyer nods at him encouragingly. “Yes, your Honour.”
Bang. The gavel strikes. “I hereby sentence you to 1 year incarceration in the country jail, followed by 2 years of house arrest, and the remainder of a 6 year sentence served on probation. I hereby order you to turn yourself in to the county jail no later than 2 pm on Friday, the 22nd. That gives you 3 days to set anything in order that is necessary for you to handle, prior to beginning your sentence. Do you understand?”
Noah glances around the courtroom. The gallery benches are full, people are whispering to each other. Surely someone, anyone, can see how wrong this is. He can feel the panic rising, and looks more desperately. No one is looking at him. No one is paying attention. How could walking home from his job at the coffee shop have lead to this? And he realizes. He doesn’t matter. No one cares. They are all here for their own reasons, none of them are here for him. None of them care about the injustice, they just don’t want to experience it.
He turns, faces forward again, his shoulders sagging. The judge glances up from the papers on his bench, and Noah realizes that even the Judge has already moved on. He tries to speak, but his voice cracks. He clears his throat.
“Yes, your honour”.
Wordsmithing
Although possessed with a powerful predilection of a preternatural propensity to perseverate in prognostication pointlessly past the point of propriety, the probability of perfection in prediction proves the possession of paramount perspicacity into post-present periods, presumptuously positing practically perfect projection of prospects prior to perception by proletariat at present.
A random metaphor
“A rising tide lifts all ships” sounds like an awesome proverb, promising better days ahead…
Until you remember that your ship is full of holes, and is sitting on the bottom of the bay, and the only reason you have not yet drowned is because you climbed all the way to the top of the mast, and then tied yourself there so you could sleep without falling off, and now the rising tide would mean that you have wet shoes, except that you don’t have shoes, so it actually just means that your toes are freezing, and you’re going to drown.
Edit: I don’t know that there is any actual point to this metaphor. Sometimes things get stuck in my brain, and won’t go away until I share them
The Battle
I don’t even give a shit anymore
I’m so sick of fighting this infinite war
Pushing harder than ever but just to lose more
The wounds are cut deeper than ever before
Blood surging freely like waves at the shore
No way I’ll ever be changing the score
Everything around me is evil for sure
Rotted, corrupted all the way to the core
The heart from chest; it’s already been tore
Emotions all tangled like a knot rope contort
Looking back on all of the shit heretofore
Why do I try a future to ensure?
It adds up to more than a man can endure
The death angel and I are building rapport
Wondering what next for me is in store
Demons are dragging me straight to the door
Resisting I trip over piles of gore
Torn from my soul with satanic force
Sliding into darkness to wake nevermore
Drug through the doorway that appeared in the floor
Falling past demons who’s glaring eyes bore
Straight through my conscious to my secretmost cor-ners
This battle’s worse than anything for-mer
Talons grasp as I fall, the skin of my fore-
Arms is shredded and seared as the roar
Of flames of blackness from everywhere pours
Wishing for death with a passion that’s more
Than anything that I’ve ever felt before
A wish made worse by the laughing and scorn
Of demons who know death isn’t salvation’s form
Alone
In the dark of night, I lie alone
With naught even to call my own
In a borrowed shelter, under rented roof
I linger alone, all the world aloof
The joys of the day; the terrors of night
I face without friend, solitaire in fight
“No one deserves a full minute of your time unless they
Reciprocate attention”, which stands the assay
Of not just a minute, or an hour, or fortnight
Of relationship strains, and that without flight
There’s no one who qualifies, few who would care
What happens, or why, to this existence I bear
I’ve lived like this long, longer than most would conceive
I’m so good at hiding, that no one believes
The emotions I sample, with poly-urnal rate
A status I’ve accepted, as simplistic fate
Many I thought friends proved false in the wake
Of accusations ugly, and lies from a snake
They stopped taking calls, stopped answering texts
Refused at all, in any way to connect
So here I lie, with naught of my own
None to call comrade, by no one known.
With naught even to call my own
In a borrowed shelter, under rented roof
I linger alone, all the world aloof
The joys of the day; the terrors of night
I face without friend, solitaire in fight
“No one deserves a full minute of your time unless they
Reciprocate attention”, which stands the assay
Of not just a minute, or an hour, or fortnight
Of relationship strains, and that without flight
There’s no one who qualifies, few who would care
What happens, or why, to this existence I bear
I’ve lived like this long, longer than most would conceive
I’m so good at hiding, that no one believes
The emotions I sample, with poly-urnal rate
A status I’ve accepted, as simplistic fate
Many I thought friends proved false in the wake
Of accusations ugly, and lies from a snake
They stopped taking calls, stopped answering texts
Refused at all, in any way to connect
So here I lie, with naught of my own
None to call comrade, by no one known.
Ugh
I wish I’d have never met you
It was so much easier then
Meeting you didn’t really chang me
It just sharpened my loneliness again
I’d gradually learned to ignore it
I didn’t even think of it much
But now it seems like always
Maybe more to come, I don’t know.
My chest is wracked with its clutch
I’m not sure what I should do
I’m afraid of scaring you away
I don’t know how to love slowly
I really don’t know what I should say
I wish to be cool and collected
But I’m actually an emotional mess
I don’t really have anyone to talk to
Or to help me process this added stress.
Maybe more to come, I don’t know.
Fair Lady of the Night
We brave the night, while mortals slumber
We stand against demons, forbidding their plunder
Of our lives, our emotions, our value, our friendship
Our common enemy binds us with chains of close kinship
Her temerity emboldens if ever I falter
I cannot surrender, for I cannot insult her
Faith in my strength, my courage, my pluck
Her resilience guides, and serves to instruct.
She stands in the battle, her fist to the sky
As assailants grotesque her weakness decry
Surging around her, scaly and vile
The dragons of depression, and self-worth denial
Though I’ve seen her fall under their brutal assault
She never stays down, in spite of the onslaught
Of doubts, of demeaning thoughts and opinions
That her self image daily with intensity bludgeons
She dares to arise, to deny them a win
She dares to fight on, refuses to harbour within
The darkness they pander with evil intent
While anything good they misrepresent
She doesn’t know she’s a god among women
She just fights to survive and escape from the dungeon
Which looms as her end if she ever relaxes
If even for a minute her awareness she slackens
How long will this battle rage on in the dark?
How long can she fight before they extinguish her spark?
Who will be the victor when the war has been won
Will she still stand there proudly when all’s over and done?
I believe that she will, for I know of her strength
I know what she’s faced, what she’s battled at length
I know what she’s beaten already in life
And I know she will conquer in all future strife.
V
It seems that you’re gone
I wish I knew
But it’s been a week,
Since I talked to you.
I know we fought
It wasn’t right
But can all that we shared
Be lost in a night?
I wanted a friend
But I don’t know how
To be that for to others
Though to try, I vow
I push too hard,
I care too deep
My emotional state
Is a garbage heap
I worry still
Still I don’t know
Know anything of how
How your days may go
I know you’ve struggled
I hope that is past
I want you to be ok
That’s all that I’ve asked.
Name Redacted
I lost my little sister the day before last
She called to say our ties are all in the past
Although it’s been years since we’ve been permitted to speak
I wasn’t fully ready to hear her words of critique
“You drove a wedge between my father and I”
Really? Are we even taking about the same guy?
Abusive, manipulating, controlling, and cruel,
He laughed at your pain, when he saw suicide’s tool
And I’m to feel bad, for trying to pull you away?
From that monster, that made you live under a rapist’s sway??
The man who openly threatened my life
For daring to condemn the actions of his wife
A wife who declared it her “God-given right”
To beat on her daughter for words said in spite?
“I’ll hit her wherever and however I chose”
“God said I could, it isn’t abuse”
So do I feel guilty for the role that I played?
Never! Never!! My beliefs have not changed
Did I do everything the best way I could?
Probably not, but what 20 year old would?
I made mistakes, that I freely own
But I never imagined into what I was thrown
I had no preparation, no time to reflect
There were children in danger, from parental neglect
I did what needed done, what no one else dared
I brought light into darkness, I showed that I cared
For the children, even though it came at great personal cost
I regret not one whit of what I have lost
So maybe I messed up, maybe my decisions weren’t perfect
But I don’t care if I lost everyone’s respect
My sister is alive, though she dialed my phone
For only to ask to be left all alone
I can do that, because I know that she made it till now
She doesn’t need me anymore, and of that I am proud
She was never to be a lifetime dependant
She needed someone for a time, to her emotions attendant.
Antidote to Depression
For years, I was tired. I’ve always had an irregular sleep cycle. I’ve always struggled with insomnia. So any time someone asked how I was, I was tired. Well, one day I tried an experiment. Anytime someone asked how I was, I said I was great. No. I came up with phrases. I wasn’t great, was absolutely awesome. Freakishly fantastic. Utterly unctuous. Magnificently marvelous. At first it felt hypocritical. Within two days, it was genuine. I actually felt AWESOME. I wasn’t tired. I was getting the same sleep. I had the same job. I drove the same car. I wore the same clothes. Nothing changed but my attitude. And I CONSCIOUSLY CHOSE TO CHANGE IT. I took CONTROL over my outlook. By the end of two weeks it was a standard joke at work. “How are you Robbie? Nevermind, I know, you’re fantastic”. So I played along with the joke. “Nope, not today. Today I’m absolutely amazing”. Within three weeks, I realized that I had largely settled on one of my phrases, and even forgotten most of the others. Worse, I was reciting it, not relishing it. In other words, I was back to being “fine”, or “ok”, or “good”, or “tired”. Sure, I was still saying fantastic. But it had become just another answer. So then I made it a point to try to use a different descriptor with each time someone asked, and when possible, not to use the same descriptor to the same person twice in a week. The difference was immediate. I felt better. I felt invigorated. I felt… Absolutely awesome.