By Jhi Rayner


The Judge entered into the vast hall of justice and sat himself upon his throne, brandishing his makeshift wooden pole that he turned in his fingers, almost disinterested with the proceeding that were to commence. I saw the wooden beam, thinner at one end than the other, seem to shudder at the touch, the words ‘Guilty’ and ‘Innocent’ burnt onto the ends.


It seems crazy to me now to wonder how he was allowed to use this device that looked more akin to a salt and pepper shaker than a proper implement of the court as his decisive device, but he was the judge. He owned this town, and he could do whatever he wanted with that power.


With a flick of his wrist, the wooden bringer of fate came slamming onto the table, ‘Guilty’. The defendant begged, kicked, he pleaded but the guards took him away. It mattered not that the evidence had been found, or that the person had done no wrong. All that mattered was the judges own twisted sense of justice, and his word was law.


None dare question him, but this had gone on long enough. I moved to challenge this lord of the court; I thrust myself forward as somebody pulled me back.

“You must say nothing,” someone whispered in my ear, “He will not allow you to live.”

I turned to face this speaker to find that nobody was there. None looked up, all looked down. Who could have said this? I breathed in deep and bowed my head again, ready for the courts next judgment.




Image:  Robin King

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